The Secret Files of Natasha Romanoff
by TheLoversTheDreamersAndMe
Summary: Snippets into the life of Natasha Romanoff, before, during and after the Avengers. 15: Natasha's PTSD gets the better of her.
1. Of Stolen Clothes and Chamomile Tea

**Of Stolen Clothes and Chamomile Tea**

Natasha rolled over in her bed, groaning as she swallowed and felt a sore throat. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred when she sat up. _What is going on? The Black Widow doesn't get sick! _A sneeze proved that fact to be false. Sunlight flowed cheerfully through the sheer curtain over the window. Natasha glared at it, groaned and flopped back on her pillow, pulling a blanket over her head.

...

"Has anyone seen Nat?" Bruce asked, coming into the kitchen, still clad in his pajamas.

"No, maybe she's in the gym?" Steve asked from his position at the table, where he was eating a bowl of cereal and reading the newspaper.

"Nope, I was just down there!" Clint came up the stairs, plopping down on the table.

"Hey, get your sweaty butt off the table," Tony complained, swatting at Clint with his spoon. "Maybe she's still asleep?"

"Ouch," Clint snapped, rubbing the back of his hand. "That's not likely. She's usually up with the sun. I'll go check on her." Clint hopped off the table and headed down the hall. "Tasha?" Clint tapped on her closed bedroom door. A groan came from behind it and a rustling of blankets. The door opened and a bedraggled Natasha answered the door.

"What," she asked drably, her voice sounding nasally and plugged.

"Um, are you okay?" Clint asked carefully, shifting his weight.

"No," she replied flatly. "I think I caught the cold Pepper had last week.

"Yeah, you don't sound so good." I don't suppose you want to come out with the others? I'll make you some breakfast," Clint offered.

Natasha shrugged, wrapped herself in a blanket, and came out of her room. Clint offered her his arm and she leaned heavily on him as they walked down the hall.

"Are those my pants?" Clint asked, just now noticing the rumpled attire of his friend. A large zip-up hoodie, a t-shirt that was so big it showed her sports bra strap on one shoulder, a pair of too big sweatpants pulled tight at her waist, and a pair of soft cotton socks that were also too big. Her hair was pulled up in a tangled, messy bun. Clint was fairly sure most of her outfit was stolen.

"Shut up, Barton, or you'll be sorry," Nat threatened.

"Okay, I was just asking!" Clint objected, looking offended. "Pretty darn sure those are my pants though." The arrow design on the left pant leg totally gave it away.

Nat silenced him with a glare.

"I found her, everybody!" Clint said as the two entered the common area.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Tony remarked. "Are you wearing my hoodie?"

Nat shrugged, even though she knew it was, in fact, his.

"And is that my shirt?" Steve asked.

"I don't know," Nat replied. It was, however.

"Woah, Red, you sound terrible," Tony said, getting up and tossing his dishes in the sink. Steve cringed. Tony was the reason the Avengers had plastic dishes instead of something more breakable.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Nat said, flopping down on the couch, drawing her legs up under her.

"Do you want breakfast?" Clint asked, tucking a blanket around his friend.

Nat may have smiled a little, Clint wasn't sure.

"I don't know," she said with a shrug.

"Well that's not helpful. I'll make you one of those power smoothies you like so much." Clint walked into the kitchen and started pulling stuff out of the fridge. Natasha sneezed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Hey, watch it! That's my hoodie you're wiping snot on!" Tony snapped, thrusting a box of tissues at the sniffling woman.

"Shut up, Stark, or you'll find a bullet right in the center of that stupid glowing circle in your chest," Nat said in a low voice, her gaze deadly. She was not going to put up with Stark today.

"Woah, Natasha," Bruce cut in, pushing Tony away from the sick assassin.

"What?" she snapped, wiping her nose on the hoodie sleeve again.

"That's not nice," Bruce said. "And are you wearing my socks?"

"Maybe," Natasha snarked, pulling the blanket over her toes.

"Hey! Stop antagonizing the woman. She's sick, and ya'll should have some sympathy. And, here we go, here's one power smoothie," Clint called, coming from the kitchen with a tall glass of green stuff. Natasha took it and took a sip. Clint wrinkled his nose. "That's just gross."

"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?" Nat snarked, pulling her blanket close around her shoulders.

"Nope." Clint shook his head. Nat rolled her eyes.

"Exactly."

"Okay, everybody, leave the princess alone. I've got a call to make." Tony trotted from the room, phone in hand. 20 minutes later, enter Pepper Potts, dressed in her usual business attire.

"Hey, Pep! Thanks for coming in! And also, I just need you to hang out with N-Ro over there, so um, you didn't have to wear that."

"Why didn't you tell me that over the phone?" Pepper said with a frown. "I so wouldn't have worn this stupid outfit. I'll be right back, Nat," Pepper said with a wave to the sick assassin.

"No problem, Pepper," Natasha replied, thankful there was another woman in the tower for once. A few minutes later, Pepper came back, hair up in a messy bun, dressed in yoga pants and a loose fitting "Black Sabbath" shirt that looked suspiciously like Tony's. She flopped on the couch beside Nat. Nat passed her a blanket.

"What is it with women and stealing clothes?" Tony muttered as he headed up to his lab.

"So, I think I caught your cold," Natasha stated, blowing her nose in a tissue.

"Sorry." Pepper grimaced. She was on the tail end of her cold.

"It's not your fault," Natasha replied, then turned her head and sneezed. She groaned.

"Hey, wanna watch a movie?" Pepper suggested. "Might help take our minds off all this." Pepper gestured to the both of them.

"Sure." Nat pushed herself up so she was sitting more than laying. "Jarvis, turn the tv on please and pull up Netflix. And dim the lights."

"Of course." The tv flicked on as the room grew dark. Nat glanced at Pepper. "Normally I'm not so lazy, but, you know."

Pepper nodded in agreement.

"So, what are we thinking? Action and Adventure? Rom-com?" Nat asked, pulling a blanket over her lap. Pepper smirked.

"Hold on, and I'll show you."

"Which account would you like to use?" Jarvis asked. "We have Science Bros, Legolas, Red, Capsicle, and Point Break," Jarvis stated, telling the names of the accounts.

"Looks like Tony's been messing with the Netflix accounts again," Nat muttered. "Jay, return the account names to the names we had them before, please, when you get a chance."

"Of course, Miss Romanoff."

"Jay, log into my account please," Pepper said.

"You have an account?" Nat asked.

"Oh yes I do."

"Right away, Miss Potts."

"It's my "Out-Sick" account. It's got all the best movies you could ever dream of on it."

"Pepper, you're amazing," Natasha said as she glanced through the movies on Pepper's saved list. "Ooh, what about Newsies? I haven't seen that one in a while."

"Sounds good to me. Broadway or Christian Bale?" Pepper asked.

"Christian Bale, definitely. Better story line and songs," Natasha replied.

"I've always liked that one better too," Pepper replied, starting the movie. _In 1899..._

About halfway through the movie, the girls didn't even notice when Clint walked in.

"Hey, girls," he said, arms laden with a tray of treats. "I've got chamomile tea and popcorn."

Nat glanced up. "Hi Clint." She took a mug and a bowl gratefully. "Thanks."

Pepper smiled gratefully, taking the offered snacks. Setting the bowl in her lap, she sipped the tea.

"Wow, Clint, did you make this?"

"Yeah, I did. Why?"

"It's really good."

"Hey, thanks, Pepper."

Nat took a sip and was pleasantly surprised.

"Thanks, Clint."

"You're welcome. Enjoy your movie." And with that, Clint was gone as fast as he had appeared.

By the time the movie was over, the girls had fallen asleep, what remained of the popcorn all but forgotten.

The team walked in a little later, talking about upgrades to the ear-comms when they were stopped in their tracks. Clint shushed them all when they saw the sleeping girls.

"I'll take Pepper to bed," Tony said, walking to his girlfriend and lifting her into his arms from her nest of blankets. She didn't stir, just snuggled into Tony's chest.

Clint did the same with Natasha, taking a few of the blankets with him to her room. He tucked her in, made sure she had water and ibuprofen if she needed it, then turned out the light and let her sleep.

...

As I'm writing this, I have a cold and am snuggled in a nest of blankets watching a movie and may or may not be wearing a stolen jacket. Lol. But soon, I have to go to work (Ugh!), so wish me luck!

Thanks for reading!


	2. Bullet Wound

_Edit: if anyone's rereading this, I've done some more research on medical procedures and treatment, so that's why it's changed. If you're new, ignore this message. Thanks for reading!_

**Bullet Wound**

One last bullet fired as Captain America and Black Widow stopped the madman. The man dropped dead where he stood, pierced by a perfect shot through the heart.

"What do we do with him?" Steve asked, picking up his muddied shield and clipping it to the clasps on his back. He wiped at some blood spurting from a cut on his cheek.

"Leave 'im here to rot. The news'll get to him in the morning," Natasha ground out, currently standing in a puddle of her own blood. She had gotten caught in the crossfire and a low-flying bullet had hit the side of her foot, right through her boot.

"You sure?" Steve asked skeptically, cracking his knuckles as if preparing to haul the dead man away.

"Totally," Nat said, trying to take a step forward but falling forward. Steve caught her by the shoulders, glancing down at her toes. The dim light in the warehouse reflected the deadly puddle under Nat's foot.

"Oh my gosh, Nat, what did you do?"

"I got shot, Rogers, what do you think?" She asked, tossing a glare his way.

"You need medical attention."

"No, I don't." Nat took a few lurching steps forward, leaving bloody footprints. Steve followed her, grabbing her arm.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, bending to pick up Natasha.

"Don't you dare, Rogers," Natasha barked as she was scooped off her feet into Steve's arms. He trotted out of the warehouse, talking into his S.H.I.E.L.D issued ear comm.

"I need med-evac, now. Agent Romanoff is down, I repeat, Agent Romanoff is down."

"Okay, chopper's on its way. ETA 15 minutes."

"Make it 10," Steve barked into it.

"Yes sir."

"I really don't like you, Rogers," Nat muttered as her head lolled backwards and her arm went limp. Using his super-soldier strength, Steve hopped up on a fire escape one story off the ground and headed up to the roof of the warehouse.

"Oh no you don't, Romanoff. Stay with me," Steve said, picking up the pace. He slapped her cheek. "Wake up, Romanoff. You're not dying on my watch."

Nat's eyes flickered open.

"'M not dyin', Roshers. Iss just a graze," she mumbled, her lips barely moving. Her face was deathly pale. Steve set her down on the rooftop.

"You're bleeding out on the roof," Steve said as opened the small medkit he carried on his belt. Realizing the small bandage roll would not be enough to stop the bleeding, he tugged off the top of his uniform and started shredding his undershirt.

"Issa foot wound, Roshers. Iss not a big deal," Nat slurred. Steve tugged her boot off as gently as possible, sending a spray of blood all over him. He unrolled her blood-soaked sock and tossed it on the floor. That got at least a bigger reaction out of his companion. "Ouch, Rogers! What the heck are you doin'?" Natasha tried to sit up and swat him away, but Steve pushed her back down.

"Natasha Romanoff, there's a bullet in here!" Steve said, as if scolding a small child. Quickly, he wrapped strips of t-shirt and bandage tightly around her foot.

"Yeah, so?"

"You said it was only a graze!" Steve exclaimed, layering the cloth strips and tying off the makeshift bandage.

"Iss!" Natasha argued, glaring at him.

"You're going to the hospital," was the last thing Nat heard before passing out. The chopper picked them up soon after.

When Natasha came to, she was sitting in a medical bed in her S.H.I.E.L.D. home helicarrier medbay, just coming out of a drug-induced stupor. Turns out that the bullet in her foot had cut into the bone and splintered pieces off into the muscle. Surgery had been performed to remove the pieces and a metal plate had been screwed into the bone to keep it stable while it healed.

She glanced around her, taking in her surroundings. Everything was white, and smelled like sanitizer. Steve sat in a chair, head in hands. The cut on his cheek had been butterfly bandaged back together, the skin red and puckered, and his hair was mussed. Someone had found him a pair of too-tight jeans and an ill-fitting shirt with too short sleeves.

Nat herself was in an uncomfortable blue gown, tied all the way down the back with strings. The knots dug into her back. Her lap was covered by a crackly white blanket. Leaning forward, Natasha pulled the corner of the sheet away. Her right foot was wrapped tightly in a bulky white bandage. The other one was bare.

"Rogers?" she tried, waking Steve from his doze.

"Nat! You're awake!"

"Duh?" Nat said sarcastically. "So what'd they do to me?" Nat wiggled her bandaged foot.

"Took out the bullet, gave you more blood, and patched you up. The bullet broke your foot, so you've got a metal plate in there keeping everything together." Steve rubbed his eyes.

"That's weird," Natasha mused, scrubbing at her eyes as well.

"Good morning, Natasha!" A familiar looking man in a white coat came into her room without knocking. He carried a clipboard, and had a pair of glasses perched on his nose. "How are you feeling? Steve, take a break."

Steve looked gratefully to Bruce, then headed out the door.

"Banner?" Nat asked, shifting in the bed a little. "I thought you were working with Stark at the tower?"

"They called me in when you came in. Figured I was the only one you'd trust."

"Dang right."

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess. A little hazy."

"That's normal. You'll feel better in a bit."

Nat nodded. "When can I get out of here?"

"We'd like to keep you here under observation for a few days, then you'll be released." Banner set his clipboard on the counter by the sink in the room. He withdrew a large black boot from under the counter and showed it to Natasha. "I'm going to put you in this instead of a fiberglass cast because of the open wound." He walked forward and knelt by the foot of Natasha's bed, pulling the blanket back. He secured the boot around her bandaged foot, tightening it to fit snugly, then raised it into a sling that hung from the ceiling."Doctors will be in multiple times a day to take vitals, give you fluids, or change the bandage. Try not to kill any of them?"

"No promises," Natasha snarled as the black boot was tightened around her foot and lifted into the air. Hospitals made her ornery.

"Nat," Banner warned. Natasha huffed.

"Steve said I've got a metal plate in my foot? When's that supposed to come out?"

"It's not designed too, but if you feel any pain around the site or infection sets in, it may have to be removed, so you have to let me know right away."

Natasha frowned. She did not want metal in her foot forever. She remained quiet however, and just gave a small sigh.

"So I'm going to set you up with an IV drip with antibiotics and painkillers, they might make you a little drowsy, but they'll make you feel better." Banner quickly made a small incision in her left hand and inserted the IV tube, then hung the bag of antibiotics on the stand next to her bed. "I'm going to leave you alone now, try and get some sleep. I'm sure Steve will be back in a little while." Bruce collected his clipboard and ducked out.

Sleep was difficult. The drugs they were pumping into her system were making her tired, but Natasha did not sleep on her back. Sleeping on her back made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She slept in the fetal position, knees pulled up to her chest and one hand wrapped around a gun underneath her pillow. Here, she did not have that luxury. She shirfted in the bed as much as possible and closed her eyes, but sleep would not come.

Finally, finally, Natasha fell into a light doze, thankful for the small bit of relief from reality.

...

Natasha could finally go home. Banner had given her a rundown of care instrictions for her injury and given her written instructions as well. "Do you need some help getting to your quarters or do you got it?" Banner asked as he set down an outfit consisting of grey sweatpants, a cotton t-shirt, and the proper undergarments down on Natasha's bed.

"Um, she's going home with me. I don't trust her to be alone," Steve piped up. He had been in and out over the past four days, making sure she was okay. Sure, the other Avengers visited too, but none as much as Steve. Natasha opened her mouth to object but Steve silenced her with a glare.

"Okay, that's fine. I'll go see what Fury can do about transportation." Bruce ducked out of the room.

"Um, Steve, one small problem. I don't have any other clothes except my suit, and I can't get that on with my foot and all, so we're going to have to stop at my quarters anyway." Natasha wiggled her foot.

Steve nodded. "I'll go see if I can find a wheelchair." Steve stood up.

"Not on your life, Rogers. Give me those crutches and I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked hesitantly, bringing the crutches to her side.

Natasha shoved the blanket off of her lap and swung her legs over the side. "Can you undo the gown?"

"Of course," Steve replied, albeit bashfully, quickly unlacing the knots. She started to pull the gown off and Steve turned around quickly.

Natasha noticed Steve quickly turned around as she pulled off the horrible gown and got dressed. She gave a small smile as she tugged the grey cotton shirt over her head. It had the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on it.

"Okay, let's go." Natasha pushed herself up on one foot, tucking the crutches under her arms. Steve trotted to the door and held it open, and Natasha limped out. The doctors paid little notice to the pair, but once they were out of the medbay, it was as if the circus had come to the carrier. People gaped at seeing the Black Widow in what were basically pajamas and on crutches with a booted foot below. Natasha just ignored the gawking cadets and agents who tried to be discreet, pushing on to the elevator that took her up to the cabins. Steve followed quickly behind. This woman was fast, despite being on crutches.

The scanner outside Natasha's quarters scanned her fingerprint and allowed the pair inside. Steve surveryed the small space. A bedroom was curtained in one corner. A kitchenette across the way. Slightly off center was a small couch and a wall mounted tv. Natasha crutched her way into her bedroom and grabbed a backpack from the closet within.

"Uh, do you want help, Nat?" Steve asked.

"Sure, come on in."

Steve slipped in the room and glanced around. A neatly made bed was tucked in the corner, very standard, with a S.H.I.E.L.D. issued blanket on top. A small night table was beside it, with a small, non-descript lamp and a forgotten glass of water. There was a dresser against the far wall, which Natasha was pulling clothes from and tossing on the bed. A small bathroom was to the right of the bed.

"You know, Rogers, I'll be fine here. I've dealt with worse by myself before." Nat tossed a pair of socks on the bed.

"I'd feel better if you had someone looking after you."

Natasha shrugged. "Okay."

"What do you want me to do?" Steve asked, stepping further into her room.

"Put the clothes in the backpack please. I'm going to go change." Natasha hooked a black t-shirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the breast pocket and jean shorts over her crutches and grabbed a black combat boot, limping to the bathroom and locking herself. Steve, meanwhile, shoved the clothes into the backpack. Most of her belongings were S.H.I.E.L.D. issued. Very few of her clothes seemed casual or self-bought. He took the time to note her sizes. Natasha would be getting some new clothes.

Natasha emerged a few moments later, clad in the chosen outfit and carrying a bag full of toiletries. She stuffed it in the backpack on top of the clothes. As an afterthought, she grabbed the blanket emblazoned with the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem off the bed and stuffed it into the backpack.

"Okay, let's go, I guess." She grabbed the backpack and tried to shoulder it.

"Oh no you don't. I'll carry that." Steve snatched the backpack from her grasp and shouldered it. "Let's go."

Natasha led the way out to the flight deck of the Helicarrier, where a quinjet sat waiting to take them back into New York City.

...

The quinjet landed on the roof of Steve's apartment building with a woosh of hydraulic landing gear.

"Not very inconspicuous, there, Rogers," Nat said, as Steve helped her up.

"It is cloaked, ma'am," the young pilot replied from the yoke.

"Still doesn't account for the noise," Natasha muttered, tucking her crutches under her arms and hobbling down the ramp. Steve grabbed her backpack, thanked the pilot, and hurried after her.

Steve snuck up behind his friend and swooped her up, crutches and all.

"Steve Rogers!" Natasha shouted rather loudly. "Put me down!"

"There's only stairs that lead down from the roof. You can't walk down those on crutches."

"I can manage!" Natasha snapped, struggling.

"Stop it. I'll put you down when we get to the elevator."

Natasha growled, but stopped and accepted her fate.

"This is not going to be a normal occurrence, Rogers."

...

"Okay, are you hungry?" Steve asked, as they entered his apartment. "It is getting close to lunch."

"Sure, that's fine," Natasha said, crutching further into the apartment.

"Okay, I'll go see what I can find. You can go sit down, on the couch or the chair, either is fine." Steve gestured to the few pieces of furtniture in the small living room.

Natasha nodded and made her way in, collapsing in the chair.

Steve puttered around the kitchen, trying to find something to make for lunch. He had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Again. Those superstores were just so hard to navigate!

"So, um, Nat," he began, somewhat embarrassed. "I, um, forgot to get groceries again, so is PBJ okay for lunch, and I'll go get more supplies after?"

"Yeah, Rogers, that's fine. I've had worse." Nat smirked.

Steve clumsily made two sandwiches, placed them on plates and brought one to his friend. "We'll have a better dinner, I promise."

"It's fine, Steve, stop apologizing," Nat said as she bit into her sandwich, chewing and swallowing, then licking peanut butter from the roof of her mouth. Steve sat down on the couch and began to eat his. Lunch was finished in silence.

"Okay, will you be fine here by yourself for a little while?"

"Yes, Steve, I'll be fine."

"Okay, I'll go get some groceries." Steve stood and deposited the plates in the sink, filled a glass of water and brought it back, setting it on a coaster on the small end table by Nat's chair. He propped up her foot, found her phone and the tv remote, and brought them to her.

"Steve! Stop it! I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Natasha replied with a glare. "And maybe I'll even set you up an online dating account while you're gone." She gave him her famous Romanoff smirk.

"Don't you dare. Any grocery requests?" Steve grabbed his keys from the hook by the wall and shrugged on his jacket.

"Blue Gatorade. Please."

"Okay, sounds good. Stay put. I'll be back in a couple hours."

Natasha nodded.

"I mean it, Romanoff, don't move."

Natasha gave him a bored look as he went out the door. She turned on the tv, flicking through the few channels Steve got on his cable, then pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against the arm of the chair to get an hour's worth of much-needed sleep. It was fitful, flashes of memories from the Red Room, or previous missions gone wrong. Natasha's mouth twisted and her eyes flickered, but she couldn't wake up. Her phone ringing finally woke her up with a start. Caller ID said it was Steve.

"Hello?"

"Um, Nat, there's like 17 different blue Gatorades here. Which one do you want?"

"I have no idea, Steve. Just pick one. It doesn't matter."

"Um, okay. There's only a few more things on my list, and then I'm on my way home. Chinese okay for dinner?"

Nat rolled her eyes. He was so protective. "Yes, that's fine." Natasha would eat almost anything, except maybe sushi.

"Okay. ETA 1 hour."

"Okay."

"Bye."

Natasha hung up, then grabbed her crutches. Standing unsteadily, she crutched down the small hallway to where she presumed the bathroom was. She was correct, and she stepped inside. Her one good foot caught on the rug, and she fell forward, bashing her face on the corner of the counter, and her world went black.

...

Steve was utterly confused by the Gatorade, and honestly didn't know what kind to pick, so he grabbed every blue flavor there and added them to the cart, then proceded to a checkout lane. He quickly purchased the food, ran it out to the car, and returned to the store, heading to the clothing department. He browsed through the aisles of women's clothes, feeling a bit strange looking through the women's clothing, but he pushed that aside and picked out a few plain-colored tops, a couple New York hoodies and leather jackets, some new pairs of blue jeans (for after the boot came off - they wouldn't fit over it), a few pairs of grey stretch pants and those new-fangled crosses between shorts and pants for women: "capris" they called them, a pair of red and black high-top tennis shoes, and a pair of grey and green slip on tennis shoes. He hoped this stuff would be okay, or 'trendy' as they were calling it.

His cashier was overly chatty and checkout took longer than usual.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to be rude, but my friend's at home with a broken foot and crutches, and I'd really like to get back to her as soon as possible," Steve said, blushing.

"Oh, well, dear, I'm truly sorry! Ya should have told me ta stop talkin' yore ear off!" The woman said with a chuckle. "Here's yore receipt. Go home to your lady friend."

"No, no, ma'am, it's alright. Have a good day." Steve took his receipt and lifted the several heavy bags, walking out of the store.

...

When Natasha came to after about 10 minutes, her eye throbbed and her face was smeared in blood.

"Ohhh, no, Steve's gonna kill me," Nat moaned as she collected herself and got to her knees. Pulling herself up by gripping the counter, she glanced in the mirror. Her bottom lip had split and her left eye was turning black and blue. She quickly scrubbed the blood from her chin and crutched back out to her chair, collapsing in it. Her head throbbed. She grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and held it against her bleeding lip. She sipped the water Steve had left her and drifted back into sleep.

...

When Steve finally walked back in the door, his arms were full of bags of clothes and food. Natasha awoke from her sleep, and reached for her crutches.

"Steve, let me help you," Nat offered, moving to stand up.

"Don't you dare, Romanoff. I can manage." Steve went into the kitchen and set the bags on the floor and the dinner on the counter. Natasha stood anyway, limping over to the small bar and tugging out a stool.

"So, I got you a few things-" Steve finally looked Nat in the face and realized she was nursing a split lip and a swollen, black eye. "Natasha! What'd you do?! I told you to stay put!"

"For your information, Rogers, I had to pee. Still do, actually." Nat squirmed in her seat. "I tripped on the rug in the bathroom and hit my face on the corner of the counter."

"Okay, that rug is going first thing after dinner."

"Steve, that's not-"

"Nope, it's going. Now are you hungry?"

Natasha nodded sullenly and allowed Steve to serve her a portion of lo mein, egg rolls, and rangoons. He then started putting away the groceries.

"So, uh, I didn't know what Gatorade to get, so I got all the blue ones." Steve set the various flavors on the counter. 6 or 7 6-packs, each a different flavor, now sat before Natasha.

"Steve, I told you to just pick one," Nat said around a mouthful of egg roll.

"Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you got what you wanted. And don't talk with your mouth full."

Natasha rolled her eyes but swallowed before her next sentence.

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're welcome." Steve grabbed one 6-pack of gatorade and stuck it in the fridge; the others went on the floor next to it. "So, I got you some stuff while I was out." Steve bent and grabbed the bags of clothes, setting them on on the bar in front of her.

"Steve-" Natasha trailed off upon seeing the clothes. She peeked in one of the bags, the one with the shirts. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. All you've got are black and grey S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff. It's boring."

"Well, thank you, I guess." Nat smiled a little.

"You're welcome. Hey, want to watch a movie?"

"Uh, sure." Natasha pushed herself up and off the barstool and crutched to the couch. "What are we going to watch?"

"I don't know. Let's check Netflix. But first, the rug." Steve stuck a bag of microwave popcorn in the microwave, then trotted down the hallway to remove the rug from the bathroom.

"You have Netflix?" Natasha asked upon his slightly smug return.

"Unfortunately, yes. Tony made me an account. C.H.A.I., pull up Netflix."

"Of course, Cap," a Scottish voice said from the speaker next to the tv.

"Chai?" Nat jumped, surprised at the voice. Steve looked sheepish.

"Yeah, Tony made it for me. Stands for 'Cap's Helpful Artificial Intelligence.' I don't use him much."

"Huh," Nat said. "And I can't believe you have Netflix."

"I don't use it much either. What do you want to watch?"

"I don't know. It's been a while since I've actually sat down and watched a movie."

"Here, what about this? Epic?" Steve clicked on the animated movie. "Or, how about this? How to Train Your Dragon?"

"Those are kids movies, Steve."

"Yeah, but I haven't seen either yet. Have you?" Steve wouldn't admit his love for kids' movies, but that was all he watched on Netflix.

A flush crept up on Nat's cheeks. "Yeah." She nodded. "I watched them with Barton's kids."

"Which one was better?"

"Dragon."

"Okay, let's watch that."

"Fine by me." Nat smiled a little. Kids movies were actually pretty fun to watch. Steve started the movie, then hopped up as the previews played, grabbing the bag of popcorn from the microwave and bringing back a Gatorade for Natasha.

"Thank you."

Steve nodded. "C.H.A.I., dim the lights."

_This is Berk..._

They binged the How To Train Your Dragon series that night. Halfway through the second movie, Steve got up and returned momentarily with a hair brush. He brushed out and braided the half-awake woman's hair, pulling it out of her face. Her eye was still almost swollen shut, so he made her an ice pack. Natasha only allowed him to baby her because she was half-asleep. As the end credits of The Hidden World, Natasha had curled up to Steve's side and was snoozing, snoring softly into his shoulder. Steve turned off the tv and slipped his arms under his friend, taking her to his room and laying her in his bed. He would take the couch.

...

"Is that my shirt?" Steve asked as Natasha emerged from his bedroom, clad in only an over-sized t-shirt with a large Red Bull Airplane on it that hung to her knees. It had been two weeks since the initial accident, and the open wound had healed to a faint pink scar, so Natasha could begin putting a little weight on her still-booted foot.

"Yup. I didn't know you went to the Air Races, Steve," Nat said, limping over to the fridge and grabbing a Gatorade.

"I haven't. Thrift store find. And Gatorade for breakfast isn't very healthy." Steve said from the stove, where bacon sizzled tantalizingly. Natasha snatched a piece from the pan, hissing when it burned her fingers. "Hey! Get out of my kitchen!" Steve yelled playfully, snapping a towel in the direction of Romanoff's hasty retreat. Nat laughed and ate her stolen bacon.

Natasha took a seat at the counter and broke the seal of her drink.

Steve dished up two plates of breakfast, setting one in front of her.

"Here, eat your breakfast. And _behave,_" Steve said teasingly.

"No promises," Natasha said around a mouthful of pancake.

...

5 weeks had passed, and Natasha decided it was time to go home. The walking boot was coming off in a week, and then she could go back to her duties.

"Are you sure I can't drive you to the airport?" Steve asked, passing Natasha her backpack. Little did he know that Natasha had buried the Red Bull Air Races shirt within its depths.

They were waiting in the lobby of the apartment complex for Natasha's ride.

"Yes, Steve, Coulson's picking me up. I'll be fine." Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. "He's here. I've gotta go," Natasha said, glancing at the screen. "Thanks for everything." Natasha raised up on her toes, kissing Steve on the cheek. Steve hugged her tightly, then let her go. She flicked down her aviators over her eyes and headed out.

"See you around, Rogers," Natasha called back as she limped out the door. Steve waved goodbye.

...

This is officially my longest one shot ever. 4,588 words, not counting the author's notes. Hope you guys enjoyed! I have been writing this fic for seriously ever! Read and review!


	3. Russian Life Hacks

Okay, I lied. No zoo in this chapter, so hence this is not a continuation of the last. Don't worry, the zoo will be coming though. Also, in Margaret Stohl's _Black Widow: Forever Red _and _Black Widow: Red Vengeance, _Tony refers to Nat as "N-Ro." Therefore, she will be called "N-Ro."

**Russian Life Hacks**

"Natasha, what are you doing?" Clint walked into the common room of Avengers tower, glancing at his friend, who was sitting on the floor cross-legged.

"Fixing my new shoes," Natasha mumbled around the bundle of zip ties stuck in her mouth. Natasha had a pair of wire cutters in one hand and a black and red tennis shoe in the other.

"By zip-tying them?" Clint asked, confused.

"By replacing the laces with zip ties," Natasha said. She held up a loose shoe string. "Makes the shoes easier to put on." Natasha threaded another zip tie through the eyelets of the shoe, then snipped the ends with wire cutters. "See?" Natasha held up the newly laced shoe. 6 neat rows of black zip ties ran down the front of the shoe.

"And where did you learn this?" Clint asked, still confused as to what the point of this was.

Natasha shrugged as she began on the other shoe. "Russian life hack."

Clint walked out of the room towards the gym. Women were weird.

...

Once a week, the Avengers tried to have a meal together, and each Avenger (except Tony! He couldn't cook worth beans.) was responsible for making and serving a meal for the rest of the team, including clean up after. It had been Steve's idea, and everyone quite enjoyed it. Tonight was Natasha's turn, and she had cooked thick beef stew with assorted vegetables.

"Natasha, why are the plates wrapped in saran wrap?" Steve asked as she placed a plate in front of him.

"It keeps the plates clean. Less dishes afterwards." Natasha finished serving and sat down.

"Where'd you get that from?" Steve asked.

"It's a Russian life hack."

"Oh." Steve looked confused. "What's a life hack?" he whispered to Bruce. Bruce shrugged.

"Ignore her, she's weird," Clint said.

...

"N-Ro? What in the world are you doing?" Tony walked into the kitchen to see Natasha sitting at the counter on her laptop, wearing a backwards hoodie and eating popcorn out of the hood.

"I'm filling out mission forms. What's it look like?" Natasha replied, gesturing to her laptop screen.

"No, I meant what's with the popcorn? And the hoodie? And is that my Led Zeppelin hoodie?" Tony asked as he grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge.

"It's a Russian life hack," Natasha said nonchalantly, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Less mess."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I want that hoodie back."

...

"Natasha, what is that blue thing on your finger?" Bruce asked as Natasha finished washing her breakfast dishes.

"It's part of a balloon. It keeps my Band-aid dry." Natasha dried her hands on a towel.

"Your Band-aid?" Bruce inquired, moving to the sink and rinsing his cereal bowl.

"Yeah, I was looking for a spatula and cut my finger on a knife in the drawer. The balloon waterproofs it and keeps it on."

"Oh, okay. Do you need me to look over the cut?"

"No, Bruce." Natasha rolled her eyes. "I washed it in cold water, disinfected it with antiseptic and put a Band-aid on it."

"Oh, alright. Where'd you learn the balloon thing?"

"It's a Russian life hack."

Bruce looked confused, but just shrugged and put his bowl away.

...

"Lady Romanoff? Why do you put the reading papers in your footwear?" Thor asked as he watched in confusion as Natasha folded bits of newspaper and layered them in her boots.

"They're liners, Thor. They absorb moisture, so if they got wet they would dry faster, and they absorb sweat and make your shoes last longer."

"I do not understand." Thor's brow furrowed. "Where did you learn this?"

"It's a Russian life hack."

"What in Asgard is a... 'life hack'?"

"Well, it's a, it's designed to make life easier." Natasha fumbled her answer, not sure how to explain.

"I still do not understand how papers in footwear make life easier." Thor was horribly confused by now. He already did not understand Midgardian women, and Natasha was just making it worse.

Natasha opened her mouth to explain.

"Do not waste your time, Lady Romanoff. I require sustenance. I shall inquire about these "life hacks" at another time." Thor picked up his hammer and started off in the direction of the kitchen. Natasha rolled her eyes, tugged on her boots and walked away.

...

"Clinton Francis, why on Earth do you have a pile of knives and a glue gun? And we don't sit on the table. You have a nest for that." Natasha scolded, gesturing to the raised platform in the corner of the room Tony had built for him. Nat had just walked into the common room to see various kitchen knives and glue sticks strewn across the coffee table and her friend sitting atop the table.

"I'm making sheaths for the knives out of hot glue!" Clint said proudly. "See, you rub vaseline on the blade like so, then you squeeze glue over it and make a cover, let it dry, the take it off! The vaseline is so you can get the sheath off." Clint demonstrated and happily showed off his hot glue kitchen knife cover.

"Uh huh..." Natasha said, confused. "And why are you doing this?"

"Bruce told me you cut your finger on a knife in a drawer, so I decided to make covers so it wouldn't happen again. Gotta protect the lady of the house!"

"Oh please, Barton, you're more of a lady than I am." Nat leaned on the back of the couch and looked Clint in the eye. He looked indignant. "Where did you learn this anyhow?"

"Saw it on Youtube! It's a Russian life hack!"

"Okay, one, it's not. Ive never heard of it. Two, get your butt off the table. Three, go put away the knives and hot glue," Natasha ordered.

"Aww man, I could've sworn that was a hack," Clint muttered as he hopped off the table.

...

I was watching 5-minute-crafts and I saw some of these Russian life hacks. Had to research a few more and I have no idea if they actually are Russian, but this was a fun chapter to write.


	4. Cold Hands

The few times Natasha painted her nails for fun were few and far between, and really the only reason she did it was when she was bored. And she only did two colors. Red and black. Today was no different. She had her red and black polish out and ready. Realizing she forgot cotton balls, she trotted to the bathroom to find some.

Two cold hands covered her eyes, fingers icy.

"Guess who?"

Out of fright and surprise, Natasha sent a foot back, her heel colliding with something.

"Ohhhhhhh," Clint moaned as he doubled over on the floor, hands cupping his crotch. "What was that for?!"

"You scared me!" Natasha replied indignantly before giving him a smirk and a shrug. "What are you doing on my floor anyway? Following me into the bathroom no less!" Clint was one of the only people who could sneak up on her, and he always seemed to do it in the weirdest places. The bathroom, jumping on her from trees, one time he even jumped out of a locker on the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet.

"I was bored. I came to see what you were doing." Clint shakily got to his feet.

"I was going to paint my nails," Natasha replied, grabbing the cotton balls from the cupboard.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Clint cried, before hopping up on the counter of the sink with a wince, pulling away the vent cover in the ceiling and disappearing inside. Natasha rolled her eyes and went back out to her kitchenette and table. Sitting down, she uncapped the black nail polish just as Clint came crashing down on the floor beside her.

"Ouch!" he cried, standing up and rubbing his rear end. Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

"Lila sent these for you." Clint pulled out two bottles of nail polish from his pocket that thankfully hadn't broken on impact. One was purple and the other light blue. "Apparently they're her favorite colors."

Natasha snorted. "You don't even know your daughter's favorite colors?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "She made me promise that I would give you a manicure," Clint explained. "She was afraid you wouldn't do these colors on your own." Lila was right, Natasha probably wouldn't. Clint limped over to the table and sat down across from his friend. "You know, you're lucky I have 3 kids cause I don't think I'll be able to have anymore," Clint said.

"Baby." Natasha sat down and held her hands out.

"What?" Clint asked, glancing down at her hands as if he forgot what their whole conversation had been about.

"You gonna paint 'em for me?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Clint uncapped the purple polish and grabbed one of her hands.

"Eww, Clint, your fingers are cold," Natasha complained as he withdrew the brush from the bottle.

"Yeah, deal with it," Clint said, stroking the brush over her thumbnail.

"I don't think I've ever had my nails painted purple before," Natasha remarked as Clint did her pointer and middle fingers, skipping her ring finger and doing her pinky.

"Mmm," Clint murmured.

"Why didn't you do the ring finger?" Nat asked, puzzled.

"I was told that I had to do that one blue," Clint replied. "It's a trend or something? I don't know." Clint started on the other hand while the first dried. Once finished, he painted the ring fingers blue. "There, how's that?"

"Good." Natasha nodded. "Thanks. Tell Lila I said thank you."

"I will." Clint gave a nod.

"I didn't know you were so good at manicures, Barton," Natasha teased, blowing on her fingers to let the paint dry.

"Hey, I've got a wife and daughter, don't you think I'd know what I was doing?" Clint asked, pretending to be put off.

"Well, I know you, so this is not one of the skills I'd expect you to have," Natasha quipped with a smirk and eyebrow raise.

"Aw, I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Clint asked glumly.

"Nope."


	5. Dogtags

_To clarify, this story bounces around and the chapters don't coordinate with each other unless specified. This chapter takes place before the Avengers existed._

**_Dogtags_**

"Romanoff." Nick's voice was not one she wanted to hear right now. Natasha stood before him in his office, staring down at her toes. "Romanoff," came the command again. Natasha did not look up. She didn't want him to see her cry. Nick leaned over his desk and grabbed her chin, roughly pulling her head up. "You look at me when I speak to you."

Natasha met his gaze, tears in her eyes. Nick's gaze softened. The Black Widow didn't cry for anything, as far as he knew.

"I'm sorry. We've done everything we can." Nick sat back down. "Everyone felt his loss."

"Not like I did," Natasha snarled back, eyes flashing in anger. Sympathy wouldn't bring Clint back. Fury cleared his throat.

"These were found on his body. I thought you might want to keep them." Fury held out a tarnished metal chain to her. Natasha took it and glanced down. Clint's S.H.I.E.L.D dogtags. Every field agent had them. They stated full name, height, weight, eye color, hair color, and any distinguishing marks. She held them tight in her fist. The edges cut into her palm with a satisfying pain. "You're dismissed," Fury said. Natasha turned to go. Fury's voice stopped her. "I really am sorry, Natasha."

Natasha gave a nod and walked out. Fury's words echoed in her head as she fingered the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem stamped into the corner of Clint's dogtags.

_"Agent Barton has been killed in action. __We recovered his body. It wasn't pretty."_

It was at that point when she had refused to look at her boss. Natasha shuddered as she walked down the hall, barely keeping it together. When she made it to her quarters, she rushed in and collapsed on her bed in the curtained-off bedroom. She screamed into the pillow, beating the bed with her fists. Her only friend in the world, gone. Just like that.

Once she cried out all the tears she physically could, she got up and slipped through the hole in the wall that was covered by a curtain. When Natasha had finally become an agent, Clint requested her quarters be next to his. They'd made an adjoining door in the walls by cutting a hole and covering it with a curtain. Don't tell Fury, he doesn't know what they did to his precious Helicarrier.

She collapsed on his bed, burying her face in his pillow. It smelled like bow grease, Axe deodorant, and aloe vera sandalwood aftershave. It smelled like _him. _A few more tears managed to leak out before she fell asleep.

Time passed. Natasha had moped around hers and Clint's quarters, living off his stash of coffee and wearing his clothes. She hadn't eaten anything in days, and showering was the last thing on her mind. She knew she should do something, go out, get her mind off of things, but she just couldn't function right now. Her head throbbed and her eyes were heavy. Throwing up was a several-times-daily occurence.

Currently, she was sitting at Clint's small dining table, clad in his army green cargo pants belted tight around her slim waist and that stupid grey t-shirt that had the red, white, and blue Coke logo on it. It hung off her shoulder because it was too big. She had always hated it, but it was Clint's favorite. Her oily, matted red hair was tied back in a knotted pony tail, and the dark circles under her eyes were borderline black. Clint's dogtags were a constant presence around her neck, resting underneath her shirt below her collarbone. She pounded her head against the table, catching her eye on the corner of it. Her eye turned a sickly shade of black and blue, adding to the shade of charcoal already there. The jolt sent her reeling backward. She wasn't prepared for that much pain.

She got up and rummaged in Clint's cupboards, looking for ibuprofen, tylenol, anything. When she found none, she returned to her quarters, found a painkiller, and downed three pills dry. Her head gave her an unusually heavy stab of pain which sent her running to the bathroom to vomit up the contents of her stomach, which admittedly, wasn't much. There went the pain pills. Natasha heaved over the toilet, clutching her head in pain. Rinsing her mouth in the sink, she returned to Clint's quarters and sat down, clutching a cup of stale coffee in one hand, staring into space.

The door opening scared her out of her stupor, and the jumped up, knocking the coffee cup from the table. It shattered on the floor.

"I hope that wasn't my favorite mug," a very familiar voice said dryly from the door. Natasha stood up, eyes huge.

"Clint?"

"Who else would be walkin' into my own quarters without invitation?"

"Clint!" Natasha threw herself at the man, pulling him into a hug so tight it squeezed the breath out of him.

"Hi, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair, dropping his bow and quiver on the floor and wrapping his arms around her. "Why so clingy?"

"They, they told me you were dead," Natasha stuttered into his chest. She pulled back and felt his hair, his cheeks, his chest. This really was real!

"Takes a whole lot more to kill off this idiot," Clint said triumphantly, placing one of his hands over hers. Two of the fingers were splinted together roughly with a dirty strip of cloth and a stick.

"Broken?" Natasha inquired. Clint nodded and grimaced.

"Busted 'em punchin' some hardhead in the nose."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"You stink," Natasha stated, suddenly aware of the odor in the doorway. Old sweat and dirt didn't do Clint any favors, that's for sure.

"You don't smell the greatest yourself, there, sweetheart. And I doubt you've been hidin' out in the Indian wilderness for a week straight either," Clint said, pulling away from her and looking her up and down. "Are those my clothes?"

Natasha nodded sheepishly.

"You always hated that shirt," Clint said ruefully, catching Natasha's shirt sleeve in his fingers. Natasha shrugged.

"I know."

"Who's clothes are you wearing?" Natasha asked, finally getting a good look at her friend. What was left of his singed hair was more brown than blond, blackened at the tips, and his face was covered in grime and old blood. His sunglasses had a lens busted out, but he still wore them anyway. He was clad in an ill-fitting black jumpsuit that bore the name _Trenton. _Clint glanced down at his attire, then the name tag on the breast pocket. He shrugged.

"I dunno," he replied. "Must've been the dead guy's I pulled it off of."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Did Fury actually let you come here before fixing you up?"

"Yeah, I told him I needed to see you and I could clean myself up. He made me promise to come to the medbay if things were worse than they seemed."

"Oh."

"So tell me, have you really been mopin' 'round my quarters for a week, wearin' my clothes and-" he glanced at the shattered coffee mug- "drinkin' my coffee?"

"I thought you were gone, Clint. And I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're the only friend I've got."

"Aww, touchin', really," Clint said with a smirk, ruffling her messy hair as if she were a child.

"What really happened?" Natasha asked, needing to know the truth. Clint held up a finger.

"Shower first, story after."

Natasha nodded. Clint squeezed her hand, then retreated to his bathroom. Natasha quickly cleaned up the shattered mug and spilled coffee, then went to his dresser and grabbed another pair of cargo pants and a black and white flannel shirt, then went to her quarters, pulling the curtain closed over the doorway.

The warm water was heavenly. Nothing ever felt so good to Natasha as a hot shower after a long mission or a particularly stressful period of life. Natasha never wanted to get out, but yet she did. She needed to know what happened in India. She stepped out, toweling dry and pulling on the stolen outfit she had picked from Clint's dresser. His dogtags went back around her neck. Tugging on the black and white flannel over her grey tank top, she slipped back into Clint's apartment, finding him sitting shirtless at his kitchen table, assessing the wounds on his torso. A medkit sat open on the table. Clint was clumsily taping a band-aid to his side.

"Let me do that," Natasha said, tugging out the other chair and sitting down. "Tell me what happened."  
Natasha grabbed a finger splint and a thick white roll of gauze, reaching for Clint's injured hand.

"Alright, so, I've got the weapons dealer right where I want 'im. Three snipers, one in the tree, 'nother one behind a rock, and the other camoflaged in a bush. Sad, really. Anyway-"

"And I'm guessing you're in a tree?" Natasha asked, examining the broken fingers. "These have to be set, Clint."

"Yes, I'm in a tree. Duh. And set them if you must. Anyway, I'm in the tree, arrow's nocked, dealer in my sights- OWWW!" Clint howled when Natasha twisted his fingers back into the right position.

"Baby." Natasha smirked. "Go on."

"When WHAM!" Clint pounded on the table with his good hand as Natasha calmly splinted and wrapped his bad hand. "Tranq, right to the back of the neck. Unaccounted-for sniper, right behind me. I fall out of the tree, hit my head on the ground."

"So they captured you." Natasha took a piece of gauze and medical tape and cleaned up a cut on his side, covering it with the gauze.

"Duh. Stop asking stupid questions."

Natasha snorted, sticking a few bandaids to some minor cuts dotting his torso.

"Later, I wake up. I'm duct-taped to a chair in a dark warehouse. One of the dealer's goons has a gun in my face, and the other's holdin' a two-by-four. Remember that, it's important."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she butterfly-bandaged a cut above his eyebrow.

"The weapons dealer's in front of me, shouting at me in Indian. I only caught a few words. American, weapon, and kill. Lovely guy. Anyway, here I am, casing the joint for escape routes, looking for my bow -it was over by Mr Two-by-Four-, and working to get the ductape off my hands. So he yells at me for a while, slaps me 'round a bit, then leaves. The guy with the gun leaves too, so it's just me and Two-By-Four Guy. I finally get the duct tape off, and lunge at him, and he whacks me in the head with his stick. That's where that came from," Clint said, tapping the cut Natasha had just butterflied. "'Member, I told you the two-by-four was important."

Natasha snorted again, and bit back a laugh.

"So, long story short, I knock the guy out with my fist, that's when I broke my fingers-"

"Shoulda used the two-by-four, dummy," Natasha muttered.

"-then I swapped uniforms, grabbed by bow and quiver, and ran, plantin' charges I found in the guy's pockets."

"How'd an Indian guy get a name like _Trenton?" _Natasha interrupted.

"I don't know. Stop interruptin'. So that's when that guy blew up, along with everyone else."

"So they found Trenton's wrecked body and assumed it was you."

"Exactly," Clint replied. "That's also when I got my hair ruined."

"Yeah, we're gonna have to do something about that," Natasha said, sticking one final bandaid to Clint's cheek.

"Then, I roughed it in the wilderness while tryin' to find a high enough point to contact Fury. Luckily they hadn't taken my boots, so I still had the comm I'd hidden there."

"That's good," Natasha replied, getting up and going to his bathroom, rummaging in the cupboard under the sink for the clippers she knew Clint had stashed at the far back.

"Yup."

Natasha returned, and plugged the clippers into the wall. "Come here," she ordered.

"Oh, come one, Tasha, it's not that bad is it?" Clint whined, covering his singed hair with his hands.

"It's horrible, Clint," Natasha said flatly, turning the clippers on. Clint sulked over to her, and she ran the clippers over his head, trimming the hair down to an even buzz. "At least you're not bald."

"I guess." Clint shook the loose hairs from his head and neck, then went to his dresser and pulled a shirt on. "Fury wants a briefin'. Wanna come?"

"Sure." Natasha turned the clippers off and unplugged them, surveying the mess they had left behind. Blood droplets drying on the floor under the table, discarded dirty bandages and wrappers, and the bits of singed hair by the wall.

"It's fine, we'll clean it up later." Clint shoved his feet into a spare pair of boots while Natasha went for tennis shoes. They headed out the door to the elevator at the end of the hall. "You know, I am gonna need those back." Clint gestured at his dogtags hanging from Natasha's neck.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Natasha handed the dingy tags to him and shoved her hands in her pockets. The dogtags' weight she had grown accustomed to was suddenly gone.

"I like the haircut, Barton," Fury deadpanned as they entered his office, glancing at Clint's new military-style buzzcut.

"Oh, yeah, you like it? Tasha did it up that way."

"Anything's better than burnt hair. Now, give me the details."

And with that, Clint began his tale as Natasha rolled her eyes and gave one huffing laugh at his antics.

Later, Natasha clipped her new necklace around her neck, the tiny pendant setting right below her collar bone. Natasha rarely bought anything for herself, but she felt this was necessary. An arrow for Clint, and a reassurance for her.


	6. I'm Deaf Too

**Thank you to the amazing katilange for beta-ing this chapter!**

**Also, I have changed the majority of the dialogue to sign language as I realized I had written that they had ruptured their eardrums, which leads to hearing loss, so for part of this one, Natasha is deaf as well. The dialogue in italics is sign language.**

_**"I'm Deaf Too"**_

"Clint, stay down! Wait for evac!" Natasha shouted at her counterpart, who was currently trying to stop the bleeding of a bullet wound in his arm. Clint struggled to stand up and pull back his bowstring, injured arm quaking violently.

A covert operation to catch a dangerous scientist intent on destroying the world had gone wrong, and the seemingly harmless laboratory had more than a few secrets behind its doors. Clint and Natasha had managed to make it outside and behind some rocks for cover as the endless entourage of bullets serenaded their steps with a deadly song.

Clint fired an arrow quickly before ducking under gunfire. "I'm fine, 'Tasha," he ground out.

"No, you're not! How are you even still pulling your bow?!" Natasha unleashed a frenzy of shots accompanied by a grenade. Return fire was worse. "Augh!" Natasha cried as bullets simultaneously struck her leg and shoulder. She fell backwards, clutching her thigh. Blood spurted from the wounds.

"Tasha?! Are you okay?" Clint lunged for his friend as she landed in the muddy snow.

"Oof. Yeah, I'm fine." Natasha shoved herself to her knees and swayed as the pain got to her head. Clint got to his feet and nocked an arrow, trying to make out a target through all the smoke. A grenade blasted directly in front of her and threw the both of them backwards. Natasha landed on her rear in the snow with a thud. Clint cried out loudly as he landed hard on top of a stone, directly on his hip bone. Blood poured from their ears. Her hearing was shot after that.

Natasha pulled the last grenade from her belt, hurling it at their attackers. A deafening bang, then what seemed like silence. At least from the enemy's side. Clint was screaming in pain, pounding the ground with a fist, although Natasha couldn't hear his cries. When he finally got it together, it was evident he was fighting tears.

_"Are you alright?"_ Natasha signed, hands flying, despite knowing full well he wasn't.

"Messed up my hip pretty bad," Clint admitted while biting back tears of pain. He laid down on the ground, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. Natasha quickly signed she couldn't hear, then gestured at her bleeding eardrums. Clint's hands flew to his own ears and came away sticky with blood. He repeated his reply in sign language, pain written all over his shaking hands.

"Base to Strike Team Delta. We've pinpointed your location. Sending evac now. Do you need medical? Over?" Phil Coulson's voice came over the speakers of their ear comms, but all they could feel was the vibrations of his words shaking painfully in their ears. Natasha tapped her comm with her fingernail, using Morse code to tell Phil that they were all clear, injured, and unable to hear anything as she applied pressure to the wound on her leg. Clint groaned.

_..._

"They're down! Get a med team out here now!" Phil yelled, waving a hand at the quinjet crew behind him.

"What do we got, sir?" A medic rushed to him and asked.

"I don't know, but they can't hear me. Prep the jet for anything and everything," Phil ordered as he shoved a helmet on his head and boarded the jet.

"Right away, sir," the field medic replied, following him onto the jet to prep the med station.

...

Natasha glanced Clint over. His face was pale from blood loss, and the pressure he was applying to his injured arm was growing looser as Clint lost the battle with consciousness.

Natasha moaned and released her grip on her leg. Blood from the wound shot out. The pair was now covered in a mixture of both's blood. Natasha fumbled on her belt, searching for the medkit she kept there.

"Must've fallen off during the battle," she muttered as she unzipped the top half of her camouflage combat suit and yanked off the thermal shirt she wore underneath. Quickly, she shredded it into little pieces before pulling her arms back through the sleeves of her suit to protect against the cold. Natasha quickly wrapped Clint's injuries as tightly as she dared, the blood making quick work of soaking through the fabric. She used his belt to fashion a tourniquet and wrapped it tightly around his arm.

Clint moaned half consciously, and Natasha wished desperately she had morphine to give her friend, but the medkit was nowhere to be found. She wrapped her leg and shoulder with the remaining fabric strips, pulled off her belt, tightening it around her leg like a tourniquet, then leaned back, glancing down at her blood covered hands. With one last sigh, she fell back, and pulled Clint halfway into her lap, stroking soothing circles on his forehead. She stared up at the sky as snow began to fall in such a gentle way that made everything seem like it was okay.

...

Natasha was conscious when the evac team pulled them from the field.

She was conscious when they stripped her down to the shorts and tank top she wore underneath her gear specifically for situations like this.

She was conscious when they strapped her into a medical bed aboard the quinjet.

She was conscious when morphine was sent into her bloodstream via needle to the left hip.

She was conscious when the field medic painfully extracted the bullet from her leg.

She was conscious when Clint was ripped away from her when they landed.

She remembered screaming his name when they took him away.

She remembered when they stabbed a tranquilizer behind her right hip.

She remembered the grogginess that washed over her when she let unconsciousness swallow her whole.

...

Natasha shot upright, sweat making curls of unruly red hair stick to her forehead and cheeks. "Clint!" She looked around. Her vision was blurry but she managed to make out the Avengers logo on the far wall. The Avengers Compound med-bay. "Clint!" Natasha hurled the white crackly blanket off and leapt out of bed, ripping the IV tube from her hand and shoving the door to her room open. "Clint?" she ran out and down the hall, paying no mind to the confused nurses and doctors. Her thigh throbbed at the sudden exertion, but she ignored the pain and limped further down the hallway. She had to find Clint.

"Romanoff!" Coulson happened to be passing by at that moment, taking in the bare-footed hospital-gowned red-haired assassin traipsing through the halls. _"You shouldn't be out here,"_ his hands admonished in American Sign Language as several doctors wrangled the woman into a wheelchair and pushed her back towards her room.

"Phil?" Natasha asked, confused.

_"Yes, Natasha. Now come on, back to bed with you. The medstaff have you drugged up pretty good."_ Phil signed quickly, as he walked by her side, briefcase tucked under his arm.

"Clint," she said adamantly, slamming a hand down on the arm of the wheelchair.

_"He's resting, Agent Romanoff. Settle down."_ Phil pushed open the door to Natasha's room and the doctors helped her back into bed.

"Why are you here?" Natasha asked with a grimace as the IV tube was replaced in her hand and she was helped back into her bed. Natasha rolled onto her side, careful of the ugly bruises on her hips and gave a frustrated huff.

_"To check on my best team!"_ Phil said, taking a seat in the only chair in the otherwise bare room, as the doctors took their leave. Phil ignored Natasha's frustrated antics, quite used to them by now.

Always to the point, Natasha asked "That's not all, is it," grimly and flatly. Thick silence filled the air between them.

"_No,"_ Phil finally supplied reluctantly, tapping his middle and pointer fingers to his thumb.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked quickly, a flash of worry marring her features.

_"Clint's going to be out for a while," _Phil's hands said as they signed with practiced ease.

Natasha's breath caught in her throat. "What's wrong?"

_"Severe hip fracture and shredded tendons in his arm,"_ Phil replied grimly. Natasha let out the breath she was holding. At least he was alive and not in a coma or something.

_"Yes, I suppose that's better than a coma,"_ Phil agreed. Oops. Had she said that out loud?

_"Anyway, I'm putting both of you on long-term medical discharge, and I want you to look after Clint. Heaven knows he can't take care of himself worth beans."_ Phil stood up as if preparing to leave.

"What? Put Clint out, but not me! I'm not nearly as bad off as he is!" Natasha shouted angrily, unaware of the loudness of her voice. Phil winced.

_"You need time to rest and recuperate. You've got ripped tendons on your leg and your collarbone is chipped where the bullet strick your shoulder. You need to take it easy for awhile," _his hands supplied.

"How long is this 'medical discharge' going to be?" Natasha asked adamantly, not wanting to be out of her job for longer than she had to be.

_"Six months, at least,"_ Phil signed reluctantly.

"What?!" Natasha shouted. "Six months?! That's ridiculous!"

_"Quiet down!"_ Phil signed, his facial expression annoyed. _"You two overwork yourselves, and you know it. Vacation will do you good,"_ Phil signed, eyes holding a matter-of-fact expression. _"Besides, Barton's hip is going to take a long time to heal, not to mention physical therapy afterwards."_

"I'm going to talk to Fury about this," Natasha muttered, rolling over on her bed, putting her back to Coulson wincing as her injuries protested the movement.

A rustle of papers as Coulson tugged an official looking document from his briefcase and held it over Natasha's shoulder for her to see. Natasha scanned the document that stated her medical discharge then pushed the paper away She stuck out her lower lip. She wasn't normally one to pout, but take away her job, her _life, _and she could get away with it.

_"I'm leaving. Call me if you need anything. Your phone's on the table. Somebody'll be by later to get some vitals and take you to see Clint," _Phil signed, leaning over her shoulder so she could see his flying hands.

Natasha's eyes brightened at the thought of Clint and she gave a curt nod. Phil slipped out as Natasha fell into a drug-induced sleep.

She was awoken two hours later as a young medical nurse came in to change the bandages on her wounds, take vitals, and help the groggy woman into a wheelchair, which Natasha objected. She was pushed out into the hallway to a room a few doors down, where Clint lay unmoving in a bed.

Natasha pushed herself closer to the bed and stroked his hand with her thumb. He didn't stir.

Natasha brushed at his hairline and squeezed his hand gently. His eyes flickered open and he lifted his head, squinting at her through bleary eyes.

"'Tasha?" he asked groggily. "That you?" Natasha shook her head and signed, _"I'm deaf too. My hearing was shot in the explosion. We'll have to sign," _she reminded him, as she took his hand, careful of the IV tube in it. He gave a weak squeeze.

_"Hey, now you know how I feel! And look, now I don't need these for the moment."_ Clint pulled his blood encrusted hearing aids out of his ears, wincing as they took some scabs with them. He dropped them on the bedside table. Natasha could practically hear is happy voice and laughed soundlessly.

_"How are you feeling?" _she signed quickly, with practiced ease. From the first moment Natasha had found out her best friend was deaf, she had learned sign language immediately.

_"Horrible. Like someone's stabbing me in the side with a hot poker,"_ he replied with a grimace.

_"Have you seen the wound yet?"_ Natasha's hands inquired.

Clint gave a weary shake of his head.

_"Can I see?"_

_"I guess so,"_ Clint's hands replied as his shoulders gave a shrug. Natasha got to her feet and pulled back the loud white blanket that covered Clint up to his shoulders. She pulled up the hem of his hospital gown and tugged aside the waistband of his boxers, then surveyed the damage. A red line held together by blue surgical thread showed itself on his right hip. _"Doctor said they put a metal pin and screw in there,"_ Clint signed, eyeing the incision._ "Guess I didn't realize it was that bad."_

_"Well how else are they gonna fix it, dummy?"_ Natasha hands asked after covering his torso with his gown once again. Clint shrugged.

_"I don't know, I guess."_

_"Coulson come to see you yet?"_ Natasha questioned, leaning back in the wheelchair. Clint gave a nod.

_"Told me about the 6 month medical discharge,"_ Clint responded as Natasha glared at him, hands poised ready to sign angrily. _"Also told me you weren't happy about it. No need to rant about it to me."_

Natasha dropped her hands to her lap and glared.

_"For you, I get it. All I've got is a few gunshot wounds!"_ Natasha burst out, having to sign _something. _Clint rolled his eyes.

_"You'll be fine. Six months of break won't kill you."_

_"I really hate you right now,"_ Natasha replied.

_"Aw, 'Tasha, really? I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,"_ Clint signed, his face deadpan. Natasha couldn't help the exasperated laugh that made its way out of her mouth as she facepalmed.

_"You're a huge dork, do you know that?"_ her hands asked as Clint nodded, a big cheesy smile on his face.

_"Oh stop it,"_ she signed, pushing his face away with her hand. Clint laughed, then grabbed her hand and kissed the palm.

_"I'm glad you're okay,"_ he signed sincerely, giving her hand a squeeze.

_"You should be worrying about yourself, not me,"_ She replied.

_"I'm serious though, 'Tasha."_

_"I know. I'm glad you're okay too."_ Natasha gave his hand a squeeze.

_"Anyway, I know where I'm going when they let me out of here. You're welcome to join me."_

Natasha knew where he was going too. The house, to his wife and kids.

Natasha smiled. _"Yeah, maybe I will."_

...

It had been nearly 8 months since the initial mission in which Clint had broken his hip. Their ears had healed, so Natasha's hearing was restored and Clint was able to wear his hearing aids comfortably again. Fury had prolonged the medical discharge for two months, due to Clint's physical therapist saying he needed more time to heal. Clint had found the first few months refreshing but even he began to get just as restless as Natasha was near the end. Natasha was in and out with the Bartons, going off on her own occasionally.

The first month had been nice, but by the third month, extreme restlessness had set in. Fury had appeased her by giving her small, easy missions within the country, and Clint had given her free rein of the farm. She'd explored all 200 acres of his property on horseback, but it wasn't as fun riding alone.

Natasha had recently returned to the Barton's house after a small mission Fury had allowed her to go on.

Clint was laying on the floor in the sunroom, doing the physical therapy exercises his doctor had given him. His hip had almost reached full recovery, and Clint was doing much better. Natasha was seated near the open window, reading four year old Lila a picture book as the sun set behind them. Laura was at the coffee table with 6 year old Cooper, building legos. Natasha finished the story and closed the book, only to find Lila had fallen asleep. She scooped up the little girl and headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

Coming back down from putting Lila in bed, her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

N Fury: _Mission acquired for you two. You ready?_

N Romanoff: _you know it :)_

N Fury: _Quinjet's on it's way. ETA half hour. I'll brief you once you get here._

N Romanoff: _see you soon_

Natasha descended the rest of the way down the stairs, a grin on her face.

"Mission, Clint. You up for it?"

Clint stood up and stretched, several vertebrae giving satisfying pops.

"When do we leave?"


	7. Dreams

_**Dreams**_

_"Sir."_

"What's up, Jay?" Tony asked, glancing up and tossing his Starkpad on the workbench.

_"Agent Romanoff seems to be in distress."_

"And why are you telling me this?" Tony asked, wiping grease covered fingers on the seat of his equally filthy jeans.

_"You are the only other person who is currently awake in the tower, sir."_

"What time is it?" Tony asked, shoving his goggles up on his forehead and striding towards the door to his lab.

_"It is 2:43 am."_

"Oh, jeez, Pepper's gonna kill me if she finds out I was up this late."

"Sir,_ Agent Romanoff."_

"I'm going, Jay, I'm going." Tony grabbed his Starkpad and shoved the door to his lab open with his hip, mumbling and flicking the screen with his finger. He trotted up to the elevator and descended down to Natasha's floor. As he entered the room, he surveyed the area, setting his device down on the coffee table. Sparsely furnished, with only the tv and furniture that had already been there when Natasha moved in. Muffled sobs could be heard down the hall as he stepped further into the room.

Trotting down the corridor, Tony leaned on the jamb of the open door, glimpsing the woman inside. She was leaning against the headboard, in the dark, clad in black leggings and a t-shirt of Clint's. She was clutching a stuffed tiger and sobbing into its neck, her bright red hair a disheveled mess of tangles. Tony had never seen her cry, so it was a strange sight indeed. Natasha's head popped up, as if she knew she was being watched. Her eyes widened in horror as made eye contact with Tony, and she hurriedly shoved the stuffed tiger under her pillow.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha ground out, scrubbing a clenched fist over red eyes.

"Um, J.A.R.V.I.S. said you were in distress."

"I'm fine," Natasha stated blatantly.

"You don't look like it. Do you wanna talk about?" Tony came over and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. Natasha shook her head and looked away. Tony stood up to leave, seeing no way to help her.

"I-I don't sleep," she said quietly as he reached the doorway. He turned.

"What?"

"I don't sleep."

Tony walked back to the woman.

"My mind has the scary capability of being dark and demented."

"You're afraid of your dreams?" Tony asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Natasha whispered. Tony's heart went out to the woman. They'd all been there. He knew he definitely had. Tony sat down on the bed and put an awkward arm around her shoulder. Natasha buried her face in his neck and cried, shoulders quaking with relentless sobs.

Tony allowed her to cry, patting her back reassuringly. Once the sobs quieted to whimpers, Tony reached over the woman and pulled the stuffed tiger from under the pillow.

"Who's this?" he asked, setting it in her lap.

"That's Juniper," Natasha replied, scrubbing snot from her nose. "Barton's kids gave her to me. You can't tell anyone. I'll never hear the end of it."

"Mum's the word. No promises later, though." Tony gave a small smirk.

Natasha stroked the tiger's head thoughtfully.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning into Tony's arm. "You don't know how much this really means to me."

Tony flushed red. "Uh, no problem, Red," he replied.

"I'm serious, Tony. After all I've done, all the things I've seen, I never dreamed anyone would want me. And now, here I am, living in this tower with 5 of the best people in the whole world. I'm wanted, accepted, and _loved._"

Tony's heart melted to goop in his chest.

"We love you for who you are, Nat," he replied. "Doesn't matter who you used to be, or the things you've done in the past. You're here now, and so are we."

She looked up at him, tears filling her already swollen eyes.

"But why? Why would you love me?"

Tony tightened his grip, pulling her more snugly into his embrace.

"Because you bug me, weirdo. Duh."

Natasha couldn't help but give an exasperated laugh, throwing an affectionate punch at his shoulder. Tony winced, but it hadn't really hurt. Natasha laid her head on his chest, the glow of the ARC reactor giving her a blue halo of light around her head. Tony rested a hand on her head.

"Get some sleep, Nat. I'll stay with you."

Natasha's only answer was a sleepy snore.

...

_Man, do I love Pinterest. I used two dialogue prompts from there in this chapter. See if you can guess which scenes they are ;) Also, if you guys have prompts for me, such as dialogue, or a one-liner, or just a single word, feel free to drop a review and I'll see what I can do. Whew, that rhymed, lol. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It wasn't meant to be an IronWidow, or whatever you call a Tony/Natasha fic, just more of a friendship thing, but you can interpret it how you want._


	8. I'll Be Here For You, Partner

I think a lot of these are going to be about Nat and Clint pre-Avengers because I have a lot of ideas for them and anyway, I love Nat and Clint's relationship.

**I don't know if I should do a trigger warning for this, but there's a little light abuse and some alcoholism in the beginning.**

...

_**"I'm Here For You, Partner"**_

It had only been a few hours since Natasha had exhaustedly stumbled into her quarters after a particularly grueling mission in Bangladesh, stripped herself of her combat gear, and fallen into bed, asleep before her head even hit the pillow. She was awoken a little while later by a clatter in the next room, a rather loud one at that. She strained her ears, and heard stumbling and a curse as a rather loud thump echoed. She slipped out of bed and through the secret door in which she and Clint had made between their quarters. She stood in the doorway of Clint's bedroom, watching a very drunk Clint stumble around the kitchen. A bottle of whiskey was clutched in his hand, and various empty alcohol containers littered the floor and table.

"Clint?" Natasha questioned, stepping further into the room. Clint whipped around, too fast, and he almost fell over, only the wall catching his fall, his head clapping against it with a hollow thunk. His eyes were glazed over, and his hands shook as he guided the half-empty whiskey bottle to his lips.

"Whaddaya wan'?" he slurred angrily, setting the bottle down on the table with a startling thunk and taking a menacing step forward. Natasha backed up.

"I want to know why you're drunk."

"'M nah' drun', Natassa, jus' a lil' tipseee! Now leava m' be," Clint sputtered out, eyes sparking bitterly. He grabbed his whiskey bottle and downed the rest of its contents in one go.

"Okay, you're done. You need to go to bed," Natasha said, stepping forward and taking the bottle from his hand.

"No, I don'! I do what I wan'!" Clint roared, sending Natasha flying backwards with a hard slap to her face. Natasha landed on her rear with a thud, and her hand flew to her burning cheek. She gasped, tears coming to fill her eyes as the reality of what just happened sank in. Her best and most trusted friend had just hit her and knocked her down. Clint didn't seem fazed as he turned around and retrieved a bottle of beer from his small fridge and popping it open with the ring on his finger.

Natasha got up and sulked out, tail between her legs. She returned to her bed and laid down, pressing a hand to her injured face. She couldn't believe how hot her cheek was, and it hurt something awful. The rest of her sleep that night was fitful as she lay in fear of her friend.

...

When she awoke the next morning, her cheek was so swollen her right eye was almost completely shut. She rolled out of bed and slipped into the bathroom, glancing in the mirror to see the damage. Her cheek was bruised, a dark, ugly purple tinged in red. She took a cold shower, hoping the water would help soothe the injury. It helped a little. She quickly dressed in casual jeans and a blue top, then went to check on Clint, only to find him passed out, face-down, on his kitchen floor. She rolled her eyes and stalked out, going to finish getting ready for the day.

Natasha had a briefing with Fury this morning, which she was _not _looking forward too. Pulling her short red hair into a half-ponytail, she gave her bruise one last look. It was too swollen to even try to cover it up with make-up, and she needed to get to the meeting with Nick. At least she had the mission as a cover-up for the injury.

Shoving grey tennis shoes onto her feet, she slipped into the hall and made her way quickly to Fury's office, where she waited to be buzzed in.

"Good morning, Agent Romanoff," Fury said as she walked in and sat down in the hard-backed chair in front of his desk. Nick scribbled something down on one of the forms then glanced up.

"Morning," Natasha mumbled.

"Mind if I asked what happened to your face? Cause I know for a fact that that bruise was not there when you got back last night," Nick said, clicking the pen in his hand.

"Oh, I, um-" Natasha stuttered.

"It was Barton, wasn't it?" Nick asked suddenly.

"What makes you think that?" the assassin asked anxiously, not wanting Nick to know that Clint had been beating on her.

"I forgot to tell you to leave him be when you got back last night. Yesterday was his parents' anniversary. He tells me that his father beat him so badly that day that he had packed up and left that very night, nursing many injuries including a broken arm. It's a day he'd rather forget. He always gets so drunk he can't see straight, tries to forget," Nick explained grimly, setting his pen down with a clatter on the table.

Natasha stared at her lap, unmoving. "Surprised you keep 'im around," she murmured after a moment.

"All agents have their flaws," Fury said with a shrug. "Now, give me a run down of the Bangladesh mission and you can go."

...

When Natasha returned to her quarters, she kicked off her shoes and walked into Clint's quarters, where she found him sitting at his kitchen table with his head down, cradled by his arms. He must have a headache the size of Texas. She approached cautiously and placed a hand on his back.

"'Tasha?" he mumbled, without looking up.

"Yes," she replied, tugging the extra chair out with her foot and sitting down.

"Are you sober?" she asked.

"I'm moderately functional," Clint mumbled into his sleeve.

"Take that as a no," Natasha shot back, slightly exasperated. He looked up quickly, perhaps too quickly, for he clutched his head and moaned. He glanced at his friend, sobering instantly as his eyes took in the huge, ugly bruise on her face.

"Natasha, I am so sorry, I don't know what happened, I really and truly did not mean to do that, oh never again, never again, _never again,_" Clint rambled, dropping his head to the table with a thud. "Ow."

"Clint, it's okay, I forgive you. Besides, I've had worse." She brushed it off with a shrug. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on? We could've worked this out together," Natasha said softly, reaching out to lift Clint's head by his chin. He looked at her with woeful blue eyes.

"I-I don't know," Clint replied. "I always think that day is just better to forget. And every time it rolls around, I just can't seem to forget it."

"I know how that is," Natasha said quietly. Her childhood hadn't been a whole lot better than Clint's. In fact, it was probably worse. "Next time something happens like this, just come to me. We'll face it together, okay?"

Clint nodded. "Okay."

"I'm here for you, partner. Always."

"Thanks, 'Tasha."

...

3/26/20


	9. A Baby For A Week

**A Baby For A Week**

Bruce's flashlight flickered, making strange shadows bounce off the roughly hewn walls of the underground alien temple.

"Natasha, please don't touch that thing. Who knows what it's capable of?" Bruce said, grasping the woman's arm as she dug a toe into the crumbling wall, climbing up and reaching for the alien artifact high up on the wall. It was a necklace with a grey stone in the center, and it hung around the neck of a long since dead alien, its body reduced to bones tacked up on the wall. They had been requested to retrieve the item and send it to Asgard. Thor would've done it himself, but there was a dispute on Vanaheim his father had sent him to settle instead.

"Bruce, how are we supposed to take the thing back to Thor if we don't touch it? And I have gloves on." Natasha grabbed the glowing necklace from the skeleton, jerking back as the force caused the skull to fall to the floor with a dusty thud. Bruce gasped, momentarily startled as he leapt back in silent fear.

"I guess you are right," Bruce replied, once again finding his voice, fishing in his satchel for the small Asgardian box Thor had sent with them.

Natasha jumped down and put the necklace into the Asgardian collection box he handed her, securing it shut and passing it to Bruce before stripping off the gloves and tossing them in the corner of the room. No need to take them with them. Bruce stashed the container in his satchel, giving his accomplice an indignant look.

Natasha brushed off her hands, only then noticing the strange purple glow that covered her fingers. It was seemingly sucked up her arms and neck before settling on her chest. Natasha let out a gasp as she fell to the ground. "Natasha!" Bruce shouted in horror as Natasha started to shrink, smaller and smaller until she was buried under the leather of her suit. "Natasha?" Bruce knelt down and pulled back the suit, eyes growing wide.

In Natasha's place was a small wide-eyed girl no more than a year old, with huge green eyes, freckles on her nose, and a wild mass of curly red hair. Her chest was glowing a pale purple.

"Natasha?"

No response from the girl except a controlled pout.

"Okay, how about Natalia?"

The child's ears perked up.

"So you're Natalia," Bruce surmised as he withdrew the extra shirt he kept in his satchel, pulling it gently over the child's head. She stared up at him with huge terror-filled eyes. Bruce reached for the girl, but she flinched away as if expecting to be hit.

"Hey, easy. I'm not going to hurt you," Bruce said softly, kneeling down to the girl's level. He held a gentle hand out to her, and waited for Natalia to set a tentative hand on his palm before quickly scooping her off the ground, wrapping the tail of the shirt around the girl. He returned quickly down the dark corridor of the temple, satchel bumping against his hip as he went. Natalia squirmed in his grip, kicking and screaming, finally forcing Bruce to tuck her under his arm like a football.

"Cap, we've got a situation!" Bruce replied as he boarded the quinjet and turned on the internal comms. He placed Natasha down on the floor beside the lockers, then glanced up at the video screen showing Steve's face.

"Go ahead, Banner," Steve replied from basecamp, a quickly erected tent ten miles from the temple.

"Natasha's down and I can't fly this thing. We need evac."

"On it," Bruce heard Clint say in the background.

"We're sending Agent Barton to you. Sit tight. He'll get you out. Is Romanoff alright?" Cap inquired, concerned for their safety.

"She's not hurt, she's just...er, smaller."

"Smaller?"

"It's hard to explain, Cap. You'll see when we get there."

"Alright."

Bruce switched off the comms and sat down in the pilot's chair, glancing at the girl a few feet away from him. He knew nothing about children, nothing at all. Natalia looked at him, green eyes huge and tear-filled. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

"Hey, shh, it's going to be okay," Bruce soothed, hoping the child wouldn't cry, but to no avail. Natalia started to wail, big shoulder heaving sobs. Bruce terrified her, for some reason he couldn't figure out. He crawled towards her, but she scrambled away

A few minutes later, a quad pulled up outside the jet. Clint hopped off it and keyed in the code for the ramp, walking up it and into the jet once it was down.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah, in here, Barton," Bruce called from the cockpit over the wails of the girl.

"Where's Natasha?" Clint asked. Bruce pointed to the lockers, where Natasha hadn't moved and was still screaming her head off. "Uh, what? Seriously, Bruce, where'd you get the kid, and where's Nat?"

"That is Nat, Barton. She touched the alien thing we got. Well, not touched it with her skin, but somehow it soaked through and did that to her," Bruce explained over the wails. "And she's been crying ever since."

"Well pick her up then!" Clint said, kneeling down to get closer to the baby.

"She won't let me near her. Getting her to the quinjet was hard enough as it was!"

Clint ignored him, scooping up the girl in one fast motion, settling her against his hip, shushing her and running a hand through her hair. To Bruce's disbelief, the girl quieted and stuck a knuckle in her mouth.

Upon Clint's further inspection, he decided the girl was indeed Natasha, with the red hair, green eyes, same sharp jawline set in a defiant glare.

"We've got to get her to Thor. He might know how to fix this. Let me go load up the quad and we can go." Clint quickly set Natalia on the floor and trotted back down the ramp.

...

"That's Red?" Tony asked skeptically, staring in shock at Clint, who had a tear-streaked drooly Natalia cradled against his hip. The team had returned to the tower, and Tony was utterly flabbergasted. Tony had stayed behind to prep the lab for the artifact and was not expecting this at all.

"Yep," Clint replied, walking slowly down the ramp so not to jostle her too much. "Is Thor back, Tony?" Steve asked, coming down the ramp next.

"He'll be back tomorrow. You think he can fix this?" Tony asked.

"Maybe." Steve shrugged. Tony looked the girl up and down as the young girl came closer to him. The baggy t-shirt of Bruce's she was in was wrapped 3 times around her body. Gee, she was a tiny thing, all bones, as far as he could tell. The dark circles under her eyes told him of no sleep. "Hey when was the last time Little Red here slept? The long flight hasn't done her any favors."

"She hasn't slept since two nights ago, when she was big. She refused to sleep at all on the flight back," Bruce said, walking down the ramp. "Here, this has the artifact in it. Don't touch it or you'll end up like Nat." Bruce passed his satchel with the box in it to Tony. Tony set it on the floor.

"I'll take care of it later," Tony said.

"Would you mind taking her? I have to unload the quad," Clint said, passing Natalia to Tony. His inexperienced arms cradled the girl awkwardly. Natalia screamed, flailing wildly.

"Take her! Takehertakehertakeher!" Tony shouted, panicking mildly. Clint quickly grabbed the squealing baby from Tony. "I'll put the quad away. Just don't give that thing back to me."

"She's not a thing, Tony. Lighten up," Clint defended, resettling the little girl in his arms.

"Well, just great. We've got an emotionally messed up kid on our hands, and an artifact we can't touch," Tony stated, glancing in the satchel at the grey stone, still secured in the Asgardian case.

"Just go put the stone away, Tony," Steve said. "We'll deal with it when Thor gets back. I'll go put the quad away."

"I'm going to see if I can get her to eat anything," Clint said, starting in the directions of the Avenger's communal kitchen.

...

"Jarvis, run a medical scan please," Clint said as he reached the kitchen.

"Of course, sir," the AI replied. Natalia looked around for the voice

A blue light cascaded down over her, and the voice spoke again. "Natalia Alianovna Romanova, appears to be 11 months old. No physical injuries or sicknesses detected." The blue light turned off. Clint opened the freezer and popped out several frozen pizzas.

"Thanks, Jay."

"Of course, sir."

Clint shoved the pizzas into the oven and set a timer.

"11 months, huh? You should be eating solid foods by now. You should be able to eat pizza, if I take the cheese off," Clint mused. "Depending on how long this lasts, you'll need some formula too. And maybe some clothes."

A quick trip up to Natasha's quarters yielded some smaller clothes. A cropped work out tank top fit a little better than Bruce's ratty long-sleeve, but still hung off the baby's frame. Clint wiped the drool from Natalia's face with a wash cloth from adult-Natasha's bathroom before he slipped back down to the kitchen and tugged the pizzas from the oven. He peeled the cheese off a slice and cut the bread into tiny bites, putting it on a plate before serving himself. Sitting down at the counter with Natasha on his lap, the two began to eat.

"Do I smell pizza?" a voice called out as Steve and Bruce came into the kitchen.

"Yes, you do, Steve. Plenty for everyone, come join us, guys," Clint said.

...

The door to Tony's lab opened.

"Metal Man! I have returned!" Thor shouted jovially over the rock music blasting.

"Hey, Point Break, you're back early," Tony said, turning off his music and wiping his hands on a rag.

"Yes, I am. Have you the artifact for me?"

"Yeah, in that bag. We've actually got a situation though, and we were wondering if you had any ideas on how that thing works, because dear Natasha came back to us as a child," Tony explained.

"Oh, I forgot to warn you of that. Yes, the artifact can have that effect on some people. Did she touch it?"

"From what I heard from Bruce, there was no direct contact, she was wearing gloves, but yes, she did pick it up."

"Yes, that is how it happened then. She picked it up, which must've set off the ancient chemicals within. They can soak through most mortal technology."

"Well I am certainly glad we used the box you gave us and not one of our own. Can you fix Little Red?" Tony asked.

"No, I cannot, but I assure you, the gem's effect will wear off in about a week's time, so the day you mortals call 'Sunday'. Meanwhile, we will have to take care of child Natasha."

Tony nodded. "I think Clint's got that covered. He's really good with her," Tony said.

"Sir, Agent Barton asked me to inform you that everyone is gathered on the common floor and there is pizza ready and made," Jarvis said suddenly.

"Oh that sounds delicious, I am starving," Thor boomed.

"Thanks, Jay. Come on, Point Break, let's go." Tony trotted up the stairs to the elevator, Thor thumping behind him. "Hey everybody!" Tony shouted as they entered the common room. Little Natalia flinched at his boisterous behavior, but continued eating her dinner.

"Thor, meet Natalia," Clint said, turning around on his stool as the two came into the room. Thor walked into the kitchen and helped himself to several slices of pizza.

"Hello, little one," Thor replied around a mouthful of pizza. Natalia started at the huge man, eyes wide. "Barton, the effects will wear off in about a week. Until then, we'll need to look after the little one."

Clint nodded and glanced down at the baby in his lap.

"Jarvis, order supplies and such for an 11 month old baby girl," Tony ordered his AI after swallowing a bite of pizza.

"Oh no," Clint groaned, feeling a growing wet splotch on his lap. "And don't forget diapers, Jay," he piped up.

Natalia's eyes were growing heavy, and lack of sleep was beginning to show.

"Uh, Clint, you might want to get Miss Natalia to bed," Bruce pointed out as Natalia slumped against Clint's chest, mouth hanging open, drool soaking his shirt in a watery, pizza-sauce colored splotch. Clint smiled down at her, then scooped her up gently, standing up. Tony smirked at his wet trousers.

"I'm going to put her to bed and change," Clint muttered, making a hasty retreat to his his floor and entered his messy bedroom. "I should really clean this place up," Clint muttered as his foot caught on a pair of dirty trousers on the floor. He slipped into his bathroom, cleaning up the baby girl as well as he could without waking her, then laid her down in the bottom bunk, bracing pillows around her so she wouldn't roll off, then covered her with a blanket.

He then commenced changing his trousers and chucking the dirty ones down the laundry chute. Thinking it unwise to leave Natasha alone, Clint did not rejoin the other Avengers, instead going out to his kitchenette to start cleaning. 2 hours later, the place was spotless. The dishes done, the dirty clothes down the chute, the mirror in the bathroom sparkled. Clint sat on the floor next to his bed, re-fletching a few arrows.

Natalia stirred above him, and he got to his knees and peeked at her. Her big green eyes studied his face and a hand reached out and grabbed his nose.

"Hey, baby," he said, peeling the sticky hand off his nose. He debated on whether or not he should pick up or leave the sensitive child, but her newfound cries made his decision rather quickly. He lifted her and settled her against his side, displeased to find she had wet the bed.

"Jarvis, have those baby supplies come yet?" he asked as he one-handedly stripped the sheets on the rarely-used lower bunk of his bed.

"Yes, sir, they arrived around 20 minuted ago," Jarvis replied in his British monotone. "They are located in the common room.

"Oh, good." Clint breathed a sigh of relief. He chucked the shirt of adult-Natasha's baby-Natalia was wearing, wrapped her in a towel, and took the elevator down to the common room, where the rest of the Avengers were gathered.

"Well hello, Mr Antisocial," Tony said from his place on the couch, tablet in hand. Clint stuck out his tongue at Tony as he made his way over to the box of supplies sitting on the counter. He dug through them and soon little Natalia was outfitted in a diaper, simple black dress, and pink grippy socks. Clint grabbed a two-pack of pacifiers and a few toys from the box as well, then went to the couch beside Tony, throwing the wet towel in his lap.

"Ew, gross!" Tony said, tossing the towel to the floor. Clint laughed and offered Natasha the ring of plastic keys he had retrieved from the box, allowing her to chew on them while he pulled one of the pacifiers from the plastic packing. It was light blue, with an elephant on it. He pulled Natalia's hand from her mouth and held the paci to her mouth, and she took it in her teeth. Contented sucking sounds ensued.

"She must've slept," Steve remarked, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. Clint nodded, setting Natalia on the floor and getting up to go to the fridge.

"Solid 2 hours," Clint said. "Let's hope she sleeps through the night. Tony, did Jarvis order a crib?" Clint called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Legolas, that's coming a little later," Tony called back as Clint reemerged a moment later, bottle of Coke in hand. Natalia crawled to him once he sat back down, pulling herself to her feet, bracing her hands on his knee. She reached for his bottle of Coke, spitting her paci on the floor.

"Aw, baby girl, are you hungry?" Clint asked, plucking the pacifier from the floor and scooping up Natalia, heading back to the kitchen. "Whatcha ya'll want for dinner?" Clint yelled at the team, searching through the baby box for formula and a bottle. Being experienced with kids, Clint quickly mixed and heated the sweet formula for the baby in his arms.

"I ordered out!" Tony shouted back.

"You did?" Came Bruce's muffled voice.

"Course I did."

"What did you get?" Thor's voice this time.

"Shawarma," Tony replied.

"Genius, Metal Man, genius," Thor said. Clint laughed at the random banter of the tower. It was nights like these that he enjoyed the most, the domestic, hanging-out nights where everything seemed normal. Well, as normal as a bunch of polar opposite superheroes could be. Natalia fussed in his arms and waved a hand at the bottle tucked into the electric heater.

"I know, baby girl, I know," he replied. "Give it a minute."

When the bottle was warm, he offered it to Natalia who grabbed it eagerly, shoving it into her mouth and sucking with gusto.

…

The shawarma was good, the baby was happy, and the crib had arrived. Steve and Clint were currently assembling it on Clint's floor. Or, really, Steve was assembling it and Clint was absent-mindedly passing tools while playing with Natalia.

Natalia was sitting next to him, chomping the paci in her mouth avidly. Upon further inspection, Clint had discovered she had only four teeth and was teething, hence the hand chewing and drooling. He'd put a bib around her neck to prevent her from soaking the collar of her dress anymore than she had already.

"Pass me the drill?" Steve asked, holding a couple pieces of wood together in one hand, the other open, awaiting the tool. Clint passed it to him willingly before turning his attention back to the baby.

"She's awful cute as a baby, huh, Steve?" he asked, laying down on his stomach and grabbing Natalia's little toe gently.

"Mm," Steve said absently around a mouthful of screws. Natalia laughed and crawled towards Clint, grabbing at his ear lobe and then attempting to pull out Clint's hearing aid. The sounds of the tools Steve was using grew fainter as the baby succeeded in pulling it out.

"Ah ah, no touching that, sweetheart." Clint peeled small fingers away from the device and tucked it back into his ear.

"There you go, Clint, all set up," Steve said after a few more minutes, standing up and giving the crib an experimental shake. It held.

"Thanks Steve. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Anytime, Clint. Goodnight." Steve took his leave and Clint scooped up the baby.

"Bedtime for baby girls," he said, and after a quick diaper change and outfit swap, Natalia was ready for bed. She was clad in a small, white, footed-onesie that had a little bear on the bum. Clint swept wild red hair out of her face and laid her in the crib. She was out like a light after a few moments, breaths slow and even. Clint jumped on his chance to shower, change, and fell into bed at 9 o'clock, exhausted.

...

Tuesday, and the first full day of Baby Natasha taking over the Avenger's lives came bright and early. Clint surprisingly awoke before her, rolling over in his bed and shoving a hearing aid in his ear. He glanced at the clock on his dresser. It read 6:47. The little one should wake in a few minutes, Clint surmised, so he jumped on his chance to complete his morning routine undisturbed. He washed his face, shaved, and dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt before a certain someone let him know they were awake by clutching the bars of their crib and screaming. The time was 7 by then, and Natalia was not happy about being in the crib.

"Good morning, baby girl," Clint said, lifting her out of the crib and laying her on the floor quick diaper change. Once finished, Clint lifted her into his arms and took the elevator down to the common room, where a sweaty Steve Rogers was sitting at the breakfast table eating a slice of toast, fresh off his morning run.

"Morning, Clint," Steve said, glancing up from his newspaper. "How's our baby this morning?"

"Morning, Steve. She's just fine, ready for breakfast." Clint set about preparing a bottle and making more toast for the whimpering child in his arms. Natalia's cheeks were tear-streaked from her screaming session earlier, and her hand was back in her mouth, teeth gnawing avidly. "Where's your paci, baby girl?" Clint asked, fumbling bread in the toaster one-handedly. "Steve, would you mind holding her for me?" Clint asked. "It's kinda hard to make breakfast one handed."

"Um, sure, just show me how," Steve said, getting up and walking over to Clint.

"Okay, you want to have her on your hip. It's most comfortable for her and you. See how I'm doing it?"

Steve nodded. Clint passed Natalia to him and Steve fumbled for the right grip.

"One arm goes under her butt, yep like that, then hold onto her thigh with the same hand," Clint coached as Steve figured it out. Natalia whimpered as she was shifted uncomfortably. "There, now you're good," Clint said. "You can hold her up with your other hand under her armpit, but you don't have to," Clint said as he turned back to making breakfast. Natalia began to full-on cry again, not happy that Clint had left her. "You're fine, baby girl," Clint soothed. "There should be another pacifier in that box, Steve, and you can bounce her gently to. Should help calm her down."

Steve dug through the box and found the half-empty two-pack of pacifiers, pulling the other one out and offering it to the crying baby. She took it and started sucking, looking up at Steve with wide tear-filled green eyes, before she decided she liked him and laid her head on his shoulder. Clint turned around, bottle and plate of toast in hand.

"Hey, look, you got it! Do you want to feed her?" Clint asked, giving the bottle in his grasp and small shake.

"Yes, I'd like that very much," Steve replied after a moment, taking the offered bottle. Natalia's head shot up and spat out her paci upon seeing the bottle, and it landed on the floor.

"We're gonna have to do something about that," Clint muttered, bending to pick it up and placing it on the counter. He dug through the box of baby supplies, searching for something.

"Do I just give her this bottle or do I hold it for her?" Steve asked behind him, holding the bottle slightly away from Natasha's prying hands.

"Just give it to her. She can hold it herself," Clint replied. "Aha!" Clint yelled triumphantly, holding up the newfound paci clips. He ripped them open, attached Natalia's paci to the ribbon, then clipped it to her onesie. Steve handed the bottle to his tiny teammate, and she took it and sucked greedily.

"How do you know so much about kids, Barton?" Steve asked as Clint spread butter on a few slices of toast, cutting one into small pieces for the baby. He walked towards the table, plates in hand. Clint froze at the question.

"Um, I worked at a daycare when I was younger," Clint's quick, if sloppy, comeback was. Steve gave a skeptical nod but didn't press. Meanwhile, Natalia had sucked her 24 ounces of formula dry and was reaching for the plates Clint held. He set them on the table and reached for his baby girl. "May I?" he asked Steve.

"Oh, of course," Steve said, passing Natasha to him and going to put the empty bottle in the sink. Clint sat down with Natalia on his lap.

"Good morning," came a new voice as Banner entered the common floor, clad in flannel pj pants and a zip up hoodie, hair tousled from sleep. "How's Nat this morning?"

"She's just fine. Hungry," Clint replied around a mouthful of toast as Natalia shoved a piece of her own toast in her mouth. Her eyes locked with Bruce's and she shrank back, putting her face in Clint's chest.

"She really doesn't like me," Banner said as he walked into the kitchen. Clint knew the reason, but wouldn't tell his teammate. The Hulk terrified adult-Natasha, although she would never admit it to Bruce. Clint could see her same personality, even when she was little. She liked him, Steve calmed her, Bruce terrified her, she generally disliked Tony, and Thor was neutral.

"Babies are funny like that," Clint said instead with a shrug.

"Hello, my friends!" Thor boomed as he came into the kitchen joyously, waving his hammer. Natalia flinched at his loudness, but continued eating. "How is Lady Natasha this morning?"

Clint laughed. "Lady Natasha" certainly was not a lady this morning. Toast crumbs and butter ringed her mouth and there was formula splashed down her front. "She's fine, Thor."

"That is good!" Thor thumped past him and into the kitchen, searching, no doubt, for pop-tarts. Clint finished his toast and sat back, Natasha still nestled in his lap. She watched everyone with wonder, eyes wide, as they sat down with their breakfasts. She tried to reach for Thor's pop-tarts when he sat down next to her, but Clint pushed her hand away with a firm "no." After a while, he picked Natasha up and went to the couch, finding the keys she had been playing with last night. He set her on the floor with the toy and flipped on the tv. He watched the news for awhile, and Steve joined him. Natasha had discarded the keys and laid on the floor, sucked her knuckle.

"Naptime for baby girls," Clint said, standing and picking her up. He quickly swapped her knuckle for the paci clipped to her pajamas before disappearing to his floor.

"What's for breakfast?" a familiar, demanding voice came a few minutes after Clint left. Tony emerged, bedraggled and sleep deprived.

"Poptarts!" Thor shouted, opening his third package of the day. Tony wrinkled his nose and went into the kitchen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Sleep long enough?" Bruce said sarcastically.

"Oh, I never went to bed," Tony said, getting a mug from a cabinet and pouring yesterday's coffee into it before shoving it into the microwave. "I was in the lab."

"You need sleep," Steve said pointedly, rinsing his dishes into the sink. Tony gave a shrug and pulled his mug from the microwave.

"Where's the kid?" Tony asked, sipping his coffee.

"Clint took her up for a nap," Bruce replied, scooting his chair back and standing, taking his dishes to the sink.

"Aw, I didn't even get to say good morning," Tony muttered, pouring a second mug of coffee. "I'm going back to the lab. See you guys later."

The rest of the day went on without a hitch and Natalia settled in a bit more, content to play or sit in Steve or Clint's lap.

...

The Wednesday morning passed by uneventfully. After Natalia's afternoon nap was when the "incident" happened. Clint had set Natasha on the floor under the watchful eye of Steve, running off to use the restroom. Tony happened to be walking by at that moment, head down, staring at his tablet, muttering to himself.

"Tony, watch the baby-" Steve began to warn, but it was too late. Tony's foot descended on Natasha's hand as she crawled forward. She shrieked in pain. Tony jumped and dropped his tablet. The screen shattered and glass flew everywhere. Tony swore loudly. Natasha cried, holding her left hand in the air.

"Aw, darnit, kid, I'm sorry," Tony muttered, glancing down at the baby and the sea of shattered glass.

"Pick her up and bring her to me," Steve ordered. "You've got shoes on, I don't. Walk her over to me, then clean up the glass."

"Steve, I can't pick her up! You saw what happened when I tried to hold her two days ago!" Tony hadn't touched Natalia since, slightly afraid he would hurt her. Evidently, he was right.

"You have to," Steve said. "She's hurt."

Tony heaved a sigh and bent down, awkwardly grasping Natasha under her armpits. She squealed and kicked her legs, but Tony held tight, bringing her and setting her in Steve's arms.

"What happened?!" Clint cried frantically, running back in, slipping and sliding in his socks.

"Watch the glass!" Steve cried, halting Clint just in time.

"What happened to my girl?" He took in the broken glass, the guilty Tony, and the screaming Natasha.

"Tony stepped on her hand and dropped his tablet," Steve explained, bouncing Natasha gently to quell her cries.

"Is she hurt?" Clint picked his way through the glass quickly, making his way to Steve.

"I'm going to go find a broom," Tony muttered, sneakers crunching on glass as he made his way out.

"Aside from a few bruised fingers, I think she's going to be alright," Steve said, taking hold of Natasha's injured hand in a gentle grasp and inspecting the damage. Sure enough, her fingers were red tinged, beginning to turn purple.

"She's got a little blood on her knee here," Clint pointed out, worried. "Looks like glass got her." He ran and fetched the first-aid kit in the kitchen and returned with Neosporin and a band-aid. He quickly patched up the small cut. Natasha's cries had resided to whimpers, and she buried her face in Steve's shoulder.

"Where's Stark?" Clint snapped angrily.

"He went to get a broom," Steve replied.

"Stark!" Clint yelled, even though he couldn't hear him. Natalia flinched. The elevator opened and one of Tony's robots, Dum-e, emerged, holding a broom. "That coward," Clint muttered. "I'm going to go find him." Clint started for the elevator.

"Leave him, Clint. Stark feels bad enough as it is. But look, Natasha's okay, and that's what matters." Steve stopped him and Clint looked back.

"You're right. But that won't stop me from chewing him out later." Steve rolled his eyes as Clint took the baby from his arms.

...

Thursday went great. Natasha ate, slept, played, cried, all the normal things a baby did. The night was much, much worse. Clint was awoken at 1 am by a screaming Natasha laying in her crib, pulling on her right ear.

"Jarvis, what's her temp?" Clint asked frantically, leaping out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. He lifted the baby out of her crib.

"Her internal temperature is 100.6 degrees," the AI replied.

Clint rocked her gently and shushed her. She tugged on her ear. Clint knew that sign all too well. "Ear infection," he muttered. He glanced at the ear she was tugging at. Bloody discharge could be seen. Clint groaned. He found some socks and shoes, then wrapped Natasha in a blanket. He ran down to the common room and administered some baby Tylenol. "Jarvis, please wake Steve and send him down to the garage. We're going to go the emergency room."

"Of course, sir."

Clint went down to the garage and picked the least inconspicuous car he could, which happened to be adult-Natasha's black Corvette.

30 seconds later Steve came flying down the stairs and dressed and ready to go.

"What's going on?" he asked, sliding into the driver's seat. Clint was already seated in the passenger seat, cradling Natasha.

"Ear infection, and a pretty bad one at that. We just need to go to the emergency room and get some antibiotics."

"On it," Steve replied quickly, pulling out of the garage. Natalia cried harder, pulling on her ear and shaking her head.

"I know, baby girl, I know," Clint soothed. "I wish we had a carseat," he muttered, so he wouldn't have to hold the screaming baby, and it would've been safer all around. When the trio pulled up to the Urgent Care, Clint hopped out.

"I'll wait here," Steve said and Clint gave a nod. The emergency visit went as Clint had expected. Clint had paperwork to fill out, in which he used the aliases Charlie and Natalie Barrtells. The doctor had come, told him everything he already knew, prescribed antibiotics, and then Clint paid a small fortune in medical bills. He went back out to the Vette, where Steve waited patiently. By then the baby Tylenol had kicked in and Natalia's cries subsided to whimpers.

"What's going on?" Steve asked when Clint got into the car.

"Ear infection, just like I thought. We have to go to the pharmacy and pick up antibiotics," Clint explained as Steve pulled out of the parking lot. Steve nodded solemnly.

"Ear infections are no fun, kid," he said to the baby even though she couldn't understand him.

"Don't I know," Clint muttered.

"You had ear infections too?" Steve asked?

"Oh yeah, all the time. Ironically, I recovered from them all. Some moron stabbed me in the ears, that's why I'm deaf."

"I had them all the time too. Man, I was so sickly all the time and ear infections were the worst," Steve said. "I feel you honey," he said softly to Natasha. He pulled into the 24-hour pharmacy parking lot.

"Here, you hold her. I'll be right back." Clint handed Natalia to Steve and hopped out of the car. He retrieved the antibiotics easily enough, paid, and left. "Okay, baby girl, let's get some of this in you." Clint ripped the package open and opened the bottle, using the syringe to suck up the right amount. He squeezed the contents into Natalia's mouth and she coughed, but swallowed. "Good girl."

...

Friday morning rolled around bright and early. Clint awoke to Natasha screaming and pulling on her ear again. He scooped her up and took off her onesie. Boy was she warm; the fever hadn't seemed to go away. After a quick diaper change, Clint took her down to the communal kitchen and got more antibiotics in her.

Tony was surprisingly the first one up today. He was holding a cup of coffee and a handful of Oreos.

"Good breakfast, Stark," Clint mumbled tiredly, tramping past him and finding the formula in one of the cabinets.

"Hey, it's good, alright?" Stark objected, shoving a cookie in his mouth. "What's up with Little Red?" he asked, although it came out like "wuz wif wiffle wef?"

Clint, fluent in Tony, replied "Ear infection. Steve and I were up from 1-3 with her. Had to take her to the emergency room and get antibiotics."

"Sounds fun," Tony said washing down his last cookie with a swallow of coffee.

"You know what, Stark?" Clint said, irritated. Tony smirked and finished his coffee, tossing the mug in the sink with a clatter. Clint glared at him when Natasha flinched at the loud sound.

Steve clattered up the stairs, water bottle in hand, breathing heavily. "How's the baby?" he asked, taking a drink. "No clothes for her today?" Steve noted baby-Natasha's diaper clad form.

"Better," Clint replied. "Still has a fever though. She's too hot, maybe she'll cool off a little." He started making a bottle for Natasha, who squirmed and buried her face in his shoulder. "Hey, sweetness, you gotta eat," Clint whispered, holding the cold bottle up. Natasha refused to eat, just cried into Clint's shoulder.

"Can I try?" Steve asked, holding out his arms.

"Be my guest," Clint muttered, passing the irritable baby to him. Steve took her and the bottle and attempted to get her to eat, and again, she refused. After a few more tries, Tony stepped in.

"Okay, give me it," he said, reaching for the bottle in Steve's hand. "And the kid."

Tony took Natalia more gently than expected and shoved the nipple into her mouth. Natalia's eyes went wide with anger before starting to suck the milk down.

"Look who's stepping up," Bruce remarked, coming into the kitchen with Thor.

"Zip it," Tony snarked as his tiny teammate slowly drank the contents of her bottle. She finished about half before pushing it away, and Tony immediately handed her back to Clint. He then disappeared up to his lab.

Thor rummaged through the cabinets, looking for pop-tarts.

"How is the baby today?" he asked upon finding them and ripping open a package.

"She's sick," Clint replied. "Steve and I were up with her for 2 hours last night."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," he replied. Clint gave a nod.

"You got meds or you need some?" Bruce asked as he pulled a plate from the cupboard.

"Nah, we got antibiotics, but thanks, big guy," Clint replied, moving to take his whimpering teammate from Steve. He settled himself on the couch with a bottle of water and the tv remote, with Natasha in his lap with a teething biscuit and sippy cup of juice.

Natasha cried on and off the rest of the day, whimpering constantly. Clint gave her baby Tylenol at every allotted time and gave her more antibiotics at dinner time. Getting her down to bed proved difficult, and Clint ended up rocking her to sleep, laying her on his chest in his recliner. Once she was asleep, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, exhausted.

...

The both of them slept later that Saturday morning until almost 9. Clint did the usual routine, changing Natalia's diaper and pulling a tiny t-shirt over her head. He then headed downstairs, finding the other four Avengers sitting at the table.

"Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?" Tony remarked, this time drinking a cup of coffee and eating corn chips with it.

"Do I dare ask why you're eating that?" Clint said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and starting a bottle for Natasha. He gave her another dose or antibiotics and Tylenol.

"I wouldn't," Tony replied. Clint rolled his eyes.

"Barton, you look exhausted," Thor remarked. "Perhaps you require extra sleep?"

"We all need extra sleep, Thor," Clint said with a rueful laugh. "Natasha didn't go down for the longest time last night. Her fever's better this morning though." He chuckled as Natasha grabbed quickly for her bottle and took it from his hand. "Her appetite's back."

"Barton, leave the little one with us and go take a nap," Thor said.

"Really?" Clint asked.

"Of course."

Clint practically dumped Natasha in Thor's lap before disappearing into the elevator. Thor looked down at the baby in his lap, who was happily sucking down her milk.

"What else should we have for breakfast, little one?" he asked gently.

"Maybe some cheerios? Babies usually like those, I think," Bruce said, getting up to get some. He found some and returned, dumping a few on the table for Natalia to eat. She dropped her empty bottle on the floor and reached for the cheerios, shoving several in her mouth at once.

Later, Thor was watching tv, Steve was playing Geometry Dash (Tony had gotten him hooked, okay?) on his tablet, and Bruce was hunched over the table, chewing on a pencil and looking intently at the paper before him. Steve smiled as he finally beat Jumper, then looked up.

"Where's Nat?" he asked suddenly, tossing his tablet on the couch next to him. Natasha's toys lay forgotten on the floor and the 11-month-old was nowhere to be found.

"She was on the floor with her toys, I thought," Bruce said setting his pencil on the table.

"I know, but she's gone!" Steve leapt up and ran into the kitchen, searching for the young girl.

"I will search the hallways!" Thor boomed, jumping off the couch and running off.

"I'll check the restrooms," Bruce said, pushing his chair back and disappearing. A few minutes of frantic searching passed and Thor's triumphant shout sounded down a corridor. Steve and Bruce came running towards his voice. There lay Natasha, curled up underneath a small table in the hallway, sound asleep, sucking on her knuckle.

Steve knelt down and tugged her out and up into his arms. Her head bumped into his shoulder and she gave an indignant snore, but didn't wake up. Bruce heaved a sigh of relief.

"We are not telling Clint about this," he said, turning back down the hall to the kitchen/living room, back to his table.

"Agreed," Steve and Thor said in unison, walking back down.

"Not telling Clint what?" the archer asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Uhhh..." Thor started.

"Busted," Tony said, making his presence known since it was near lunch time.

"We may or may not have lost track of Natasha for a few minutes?" Steve said as Clint's eyes went wide.

"Well," he said at last, "the important thing is you found her. How does she seem?"

"Much better. After you went upstairs, she finished her bottle and had some cheerios, and then played awhile before wandering off."

Clint reached for Natasha and took her from Steve. "You need to behave," he whispered, kissing her cheek. Natasha giggled and reached for his hearing aid.

...

Sunday rolled around and Clint got out of bed. Tomorrow, hopefully, Natasha would be big again. Clint got up and checked his phone, seeing 3 texts from Fury about a mission for him and Cap. Clint sent a reply saying they'd be there before starting his daily routine.

"Steve, we've got a mission. Fury wants us there in an hour," Clint said upon entering the communal kitchen.

"That's great, Clint, but what are we going to do with Nat?" Steve asked.

"Thor can watch her, can't he?" Clint asked, passing Nat to Steve when he held out his arms.

"Off-world. Took the artifact back to Asgard."

"Bruce?"

"Called away by SHIELD. He's doing some lab tests."

"You have got to be kidding me," Clint muttered, face-palming. "So we leave her with Tony?"

"Unless you tell Fury we can't do it," Steve pointed out while making Natasha's morning bottle.

"No, no, Stark should be able to take care of her for a couple hours," Clint said hesitantly.

"You know I can hear you, right? I'm right here," Tony piped up from his position at the dining table.

"Shut up," Clint said. Tony rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure I can handle Little Red for a little while," Tony assured them.

...

"Was this a good idea?" Clint asked as he and Steve boarded the quinjet.

"What, the mission?"

"No, leaving Tasha with Tony."

"No, probably not."

...

"Okay, little thing, let's go up to the lab." Tony grabbed Natasha from the floor and headed up to his personal lab, where he strapped Natasha to a chair with his belt, then commenced with his project. Natalia glowered at him, chewing avidly on the pacifier Clint had clipped to her onesie just before he had left.

"Don't look at me like that, kid. I don't know anything about babies." Tony tinkered for a while and Natasha seemed content enough to watch him work.

"Tony?" Pepper came into the lab, fresh off a Stark Industries business trip.

"Behind the table, Pep!" Tony called, popping his head up and thwacking it against the underside of the workbench. Pepper walked further into the lab, noticing the baby on the chair.

"Anthony Edward Stark, that baby had better not be yours," Pepper admonished, looking absolutely dumbfounded.

"That, my darling," Tony sashayed over and gave Pepper a kiss on the lips, "is our dear little Natasha Romanoff."

"What?!"

"No joke, Peps. She touched some alien deal and it de-aged her."

"When did this happen?" Pepper walked over to the girl, who's eyes were rimmed with tears, like she might cry.

"About a week ago," Tony replied.

"Why is she tied to a chair?" Pepper asked, slightly mortified. She undid the belt around Natasha's waist and lifted her onto her hip, and Natasha's whimpers subsided.

"I didn't know what to do with her and everyone's away, so I had to watch her."

"You're an idiot," Pepper said, gently stroking Natasha's hair out of her eyes. At Tony's indignant look, she added, "a lovable idiot." And with that, Pepper turned around and walked out of Tony's lab, Natasha in her arms.

...

"Hi baby girl!" Clint came into the common room, bedraggled and filthy after a long days work, but happy to be home. Steve followed behind him, looking a little worse for wear but happy.

Clint walked over and lifted Natalia from Pepper's arms and onto his hip. "Hi, Pepper," he greeted. "Where's Tony?"

"Tony's in the lab," Pepper replied, setting her computer aside.

"Oh no, he didn't," Steve said.

"Oh yes he did. Had her down in the lab with him. She seems fine, though."

Clint nodded in relief.

"She had a nap at 10, lunch at noon, and another nap at 2, then dinner at 5. She seems ready for bed now," Pepper said, getting up from the couch and smoothing her skirt.

"Thank you, Pepper, you are a life-saver," Clint replied as he headed for his floor to put Natasha to bed.

...

Clint was up early Sunday morning, running up to adult-Natasha's floor to find adult sized clothes. He had no idea when the transformation would take place, or even if it would, but better be safe than sorry. He returned to a still sleeping baby, quickly showered, then got Natasha ready for the day.

"Today's the day, right, Thor?" he asked as he entered the shared kitchen, Natasha braced in his hip.

"Yes, Barton, that is correct. However, she must be asleep for the transformation to occur," Thor explained around a mouthful of pop-tart.

"Okay, I'll put her down for her morning nap in about 2 hours, then we'll be good to go." Clint set about making Natasha's last bottle, and she sucked it dry within 10 minutes.

...

"Sleep tight, my girl," Clint whispered to the baby, leaning down and snapping a selfie with the sleeping Natalia's. He had situated her in her adult bed on her floor so when she was big she wouldn't wake up in a crib. Natalia gave a sleepy snuffle and sucked her paci half-consciously. Clint smiled, made sure adult-Natasha's clothes were easily accessible before leaving the room.

...

Natasha awoke slowly, stretching and glancing around. She was in her bed at Avengers Tower. Her head felt funny, and her stomach hurt. The last thing she remembered was passing out after retrieving the alien artifact. She sat up and blinked, clearing her bleary eyes, and noticed a baby's pacifier near her pillow. She raised a brow in confusion before getting out of bed, dressing and going to find some answers.

"Dare I ask what happened?" she remarked loudly upon entering the common area, holding up the pacifier she'd found in her bed.

"Natasha!" Clint shouted. "You're back!" he jumped up and gave her a hug. She returned the hug, confused.

"Back from what?"

"You...You don't remember?"

Natasha shook her head.

"You... you touched that alien thing and it turned you into a... a baby," Clint explained awkwardly.

"What?" Natasha asked, shocked.

"It's true, Nat," Bruce piped up from his chair. Steve nodded and Thor hummed his yes.

"That's a new one," she muttered, going to the couch and sitting down, head in hands. "My head feels funny and my tummy hurts."

"That is normal, Lady Natasha. Your head should be back to normal within the hour," Thor said and Natasha nodded, examining the fingers of her left hand. They were bruised.

Clint noticed her looking and said, "Tony stepped on your hand when you were little."

"Nice guy," she muttered.

"Guys! Guys, guess what?" Tony came flying up the stairs, waving a stack of cards. "Oh, hi, Little Red."

Natasha gave him a smirk and an eye roll.

"What, Tony?" Steve asked, glancing up from his sketchpad.

"Jarvis secretly took, saved, and developed pictures from this whole week. He figured we would want memories!" Tony plopped a pile of photographs into the middle of the coffee table. Natasha leaned forward, looking at the first one. It was of a very tiny, very much baby her, in nothing but a diaper, pacifier in her mouth and being held by Clint, who had a bottle of formula in his other hand.

"That. Is. Awesome." Clint grabbed the pile off the table and started leafing through a few them. One of Natasha screaming, one of Steve giving her a bottle, one of her playing with Clint's hearing aid, and Clint's personal favorite: a snapshot of him holding a tank top-clad, dripping, Natalia away from his soaked trousers, among other things.

"Oh, tell me that's not what I think it is," moaned Nat, covering her red face with her hands.

"Yep, you peed on me," Clint said with definite nod and smile, rapping Natasha on the forehead with his knuckle for good measure. He tossed the rest of the photos back down on the table.

Natasha flushed, embarrassed. She thunked her head onto Clint's shoulder, burying her face in his chest to hide her red cheeks. "You have got to be kidding me."

...

**And that is that, folks! This is officially the longest thing I've ever written. At 8,490 words long, this took me so forever to finish, but it's finally done! Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review, I would be so grateful. Also, chapter 6 was finally beta-ed and is much better. I'd appreciate it if you gave it a reread! Also, what do ya'lls think about the cover art? Drew it myself :) **

**Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go collapse from exhaustion.**

**4/16/20**


	10. Just Breathe

_**So the last chapter (the one I was so proud of!) got very little interest and no reviews, it seems, so I decided to go and try the angsty route again.**_

**Just Breathe**

Soviet Russia, 1990. She was little, about 6 or so. Natasha couldn't remember what she had done or how it had happened, but she had ended up outside in the dead of night in the middle of winter. It was freezing, the cold soaking through her thin nightdress. Madame B had thrown her out in the courtyard of the academy, saying this was her punishment. What had she done? She didn't know, but what she did know was that she would freeze if she didn't move. So she walked, and walked around the academy's courtyard, the cruel wind throwing drifts of snow off the roof and onto her. Her bare feet were bright red, gradually turning to white as the snow she tread on deepened until it was at her ankles. She remembered walking until she collapsed in the snow, too cold to go on.

In the morning, she was cruelly drug inside and kicked until she awoke, and then was ordered to get ready for the day. Her ballet lessons were always first in the morning, and her feet were in excruciating pain as she shoved them into her shoes. She was made to dance, like all the other girls. No exceptions. Ever. Her feet ached horribly, and blood soaked through the toes of her pointe shoes. And that night, it was right back outside again. This had gone on for three days, until Natasha thought she would die. And then she was able to go back to her bed. And then the memory replayed, just as vivid and horrible as the day it had happened. Like it had just happened yesterday.

Natasha kicked in her sleep, mumbling.

"Got to keep walking. Got to keep walking. Don't stop, never stop!"

Clint sat up again and shook her awake.

"'Tasha! 'Tasha!"" he whisper yelled.

"No more! No more! I don't want to back outside!" she protested, sending a flailing fist his way. He jerked his head back just in time to avoid a broken nose. "Natasha!" he snapped, slapping her cheek. The woman sat up quickly, eyes fearful.

Natasha woke with a start, bolting upright, breathing fast.

"Where am I?" she asked loudly. "You're in a tent in the Alaskan wilderness," he replied gently, quietly.

"Cold."

"Yes, it's cold. Why don't you go back to sleep and warm up?" Clint asked, setting a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back to the ground. He pulled his extra blanket over her and laid back down, keeping one eye open as he fell back asleep.

"Don't put me outside!" Natasha whined, sitting back up and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey, sweetness, I'm not going to put you outside. Relax. Breathe. Breathe." Clint scooted over and wrapped his arms around her as she breathed heavily, shoulder shaking. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Red Room, cold, outside, snow, cold," Natasha's words came out in a jumble, her lips moving unintelligibly after that. Her breaths were short and fast, and she trembled under his grasp.

"You're okay, sweetness, I've got you," Clint soothed, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

_Sweetness. _Nobody had ever called her that before. That sounded nice. Who was talking to her?

"Who... are... you?" she pushed out between breaths, her heart racing.

"'Tasha, it's me, Clint."

"Clint." It all came rushing back to her. Alaska, the tent, the mission, all of it. She trembled violently, uncontrollably. "I-I can't stop it. I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, sweetness, it's okay. Just breathe. You don't have to be sorry for anything. I've got you." Clint rocked her gently, pressing his nose into her hair. Natasha shuddered and trembled as he rocked, before falling asleep in his arms.


	11. For Now

_**For Now**_

Strong yet gentle fingers massage her scalp as she holds her head under the steady flow of the hotel sink faucet. She sighs and rests her head against the towel covered rim of the sink. The fingers stop momentarily and one wet hand moves to rest comfortingly on her sport bra clad back. She tilts her head and smiles a little, and the hands went back to wash the last of the residual hair bleach from her now blonde strands. A towel is laid over her neck and a tap on her shoulder tells her she can get up as Steve turns the faucet off.

She lifts her head and flips her hair quickly back over her head, sending a spray of water all over Sam, who has just come through the door, holding a freshly laundered sweatshirt and a cup of tea. He scrubs water off his face with his sleeve and offers her a rueful laugh and an eye roll. She gives him an apologetic smile as he sets the sweatshirt and mug down and takes his leave.

Steve silently holds up a pair of scissors when she turns his way again, and she shudders. Natasha has undergone so many hair changes and colors, this should be no different. But it is. The last time she'd changed her hair for circumstances such as these, she had been running from the KGB. So let's just say this wasn't exactly bringing back any good memories.

She steels herself and gives him a nod, and he starts to cut away a good chunk of her mid-back length tresses. The clumps of hair falling to the ground around her ankles jars her and she jerks her head quickly out of instinct, hearing the scissors slice sharply through her hair. Steve gives her a look as if to say _hold still! _When she surveys the damage she's done in the mirror, she realizes that the shoulder-length cut they'd been going for has suddenly turned into a chin-length bob. She allows Steve to finish cutting, then towels her hair until it was mostly dry. She pulls the sweatshirt Sam has left for her over her head, then takes the mug of tea into her hands.

Steve looks at her silently as she eyes him innocently over the rim of her cup, eyes wide and searching. _What did we do to deserve this? _Her expression seems to say. He walks to her and shrugs sadly as if to say _I don't know. _He gently takes the mug from her hands and wraps her in a hug, pulling her close to his chest with a hand on the back of her head. Her arms go flying around his waist, squeezing tight.

Steve strokes her damp hair comfortingly, rocking back and forth. She leans into him, closing her eyes. She feels safe when she is with him; like they can take on the whole world together and get out with nary a scratch. The pair sinks to the floor of the hotel bathroom in each other's arms. Steve rocks her back and forth. He doesn't know how long they sit there, but after a moment, Natasha's weight goes limp in his arms and her breathing evens out. He slips his arms around her and lifts her up, carrying her bridal style to the bed in her hotel room. He gently lays her down and covers her with a blanket. She rolls over on her side and curls up, looking somewhat peaceful.

He crosses over through the adjoining doors into the room next door where he and Sam are staying, but he leaves them open, just in case she needs something. Sam, sitting on one of the beds, turns the volume down on the tv and looks at Steve. _Is she okay? _His eyes seem to ask as he tosses the remote down. Steve gives a nod as he pulls his shirt off. Sam nods back and disappears into the bathroom to begin his nightly routine. Steve changes into sweatpants before sliding into the other bed and falling asleep.

A few hours later he is awoken by a dip in the bed as someone crawls onto the other side and slides under the covers. He doesn't open his eyes, just lets it happen. Natasha, clad in her pajamas, scoots all the way over until her back presses against his chest, and she grabs his hand as she falls back asleep. Her head nestles under his chin, a few strands of hair catching on the beard he is beginning to grow. He wraps a gentle arm around her and kisses her hair before falling back asleep. They'd be okay, for now.


	12. Dancing (and baking!) in the Dark

_**Silverspoon asked for more Romanogers, and I'm very happy to oblige. Here's a fluffy little scene. Assume Natasha and Steve have been dating for a few months.**_

**Dancing (and baking!) in the Dark**

It was 2am. Unable to sleep, Steve wandered tiredly downstairs at the compound, only to find his girl dancing in the kitchen, singing the lyrics to I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys as it played on the radio behind her. She was barefoot, clad in a black knee-length nightgown. A smear of flour was on her cheek and there was a half-mixed bowl of batter on the counter. In her hand was a spoon that was dripping on the floor. Natasha's eyes were closed as she spun, sending batter spraying everywhere. The song came to a close and she opened her eyes to see Steve standing there, smiling. He wiped a glob of batter from his nose and licked it off.

"Lemon?" he guessed, and she nodded and stuck her spoon back into the mixture. "Can't sleep?" he asked, coming to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled.

"No, I couldn't," she admitted, "So I decided I'd make breakfast for tomorrow." She reached to turn off the radio.

"Please, don't turn it off," Steve said, grasping her hand before it reached the knob. "Continue, please." He let her go and walked to the counter, sitting on a stool behind it. Natasha nodded and turned the volume up, starting to sing as I'm Yours by Jason Mraz began to play. "But I-I won't hesitate, no more no more," Natasha sang along, bouncing on her toes to the beat. She scooped batter into the pans and stuck it in the oven as Steve jumped up. He grabbed her hand and set his other one on her hip and spun her around the kitchen, drinking in her joyous laugh and sparking eyes.

"I'm yours!" they sang in unison with the radio, swaying with the tempo of the music. Steve caught her forehead in a gentle kiss as the music came to an end and she kissed him back, pulling him close to herself. Steve pulled away and pulled her head to his chest, his hand resting on the back of her head. She sighed in bliss, listening to his heartbeat pulsing constantly under his shirt. Walking the Wire by Imagine Dragons was next, and Natasha sang to that one too.

"Boy can you sing," Steve said in awe. Natasha paused and blushed and Steve smiled. "Don't stop," Steve chided quietly as another song started and the oven beeped. Natasha moved to pull out the muffins and stick in another pan, singing all the while. Steve swept her up into his arms and started to dance again, occasionally kissing her face. Natasha pulled the second batch of muffins out of the oven when they were ready, and together they iced them with icing Natasha had previously made. The kitchen was lit by a single fixture hanging over the island, illuminating their heads with haloes of light. Steve dabbed a bit of icing on his finger and dapped it on her nose, and she giggled and wiped it off, licking it off her finger. Steve grabbed her sticky hands and kissed them.

Natasha scrambled up on the counter so she was level with his height, and kissed him full on the mouth, tired of the teasing kisses he offered. He leaned into her kiss and sighed happily. This girl was his girl, and he never wanted another.


	13. I'm Not A Damsel in Distress, Barton

**Trigger warning: fairly graphic description of getting stitches below.**

_**I'm Not A Damsel In Distress, Barton**_

"Clint, go! I'm right behind you!" Natasha shouted at her counterpart as they ran through the forest, the jeeps coming quickly behind them. Clint bolted faster, knowing that his options were listen to Nat or die, but he also knew that Natasha was too far away to be right behind him. His heart pounded in his ears as he swung himself up into a tree, shimmying up it with practiced ease and panicked fear. He nocked an arrow quickly, sending it flying into one of the jeep's grills, causing a fiery explosion. Natasha was running as fast as her short legs could carry her and had almost reached the tree he was in. At the last second, she caught her toe on a rock and fell down hard on her knee. A scout on a dirt bike was hot on her tail.

Natasha scrambled up and ran, limping, towards Clint. He pushed his hand out as far as he could. Natasha reached as she ran, her fingertips brushing his. He closed his fingers and grabbed for her, but a ground scout grabbed her around the waist, scooping her up as he blasted by. His arm slammed into her gut and she grunted as she was thrown over his lap.

"'Tasha!" Clint screamed, his empty hand flailing. "I'll come back for you, I promise!" The biker whipped around and returned to his cohort, and Natasha managed to get a look back at Clint before she was hauled aboard a jeep and blindfolded. Her eyes were bright and defiant, but held the tiniest bit of fear. She was afraid. He watched in horror as one of the men clubbed her over the head and she was knocked out.

Clint waited until the dust settled and the team was long gone, knowing they would leave scouts behind to search for him. Night was falling, and as much as he wanted to sleep, it was the best time to travel. He could follow the muddy tracks the jeeps had left to the base, but that wasn't what worried him. It was whether or not he could make it in time, get Natasha out, and make it to the pickup point where Coulson and Strike would pull them out.

Clint walked all night, occasionally pushing into a jog. His gear weighed him down and he considered dumping it, but he knew that he needed most of it to survive. The sun was beginning to rise, so Clint decided to bed down for a quick nap. Climbing up high in a tree, he strung up a hammock and settled in for the night - er, day.

...

Natasha woke groggily to a pounding pain in her skull and dried blood from a cut at her hairline crusted over her eyelids. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here, or what she did, but she couldn't see anything due to a scrap of fabric tied over her eyes. She was tied to a metal bar, arms raised above her head. Her hands worked furiously, almost involuntarily, to work the knots loose. The toes of her scuffed boots barely brushed the floor. Her knee ached where she had fallen on it, and the pressure of hanging by her arms did nothing to help.

"Who do you work for? Why are you here?" The heavily accented voice asked from the shadows. "Narcotics agent? Have you come to kill us? Turn us in?"

Oh, yeah, the drug ring they hadn't meant to find.

Natasha squinted in the dark, her eyes adjusting as her blindfold was taken off sharply. She had been stripped of her gear, her backpack nowhere to be found. She was in a warehouse of some kind, she figured that much out. Her red hair was over her face, obscuring much of her vision.

"I'm not here to kill you. I didn't even know your drug ring existed when we were dropped here," she spat out, shaking her head to clear some of the strands.

"So why are you here, then, if you have not come to expose us?" the voice asked angrily.

"That's classified," Natasha said quickly. They had been sent to locate a SHIELD plane crash and suspected HYDRA facility, when, instead, they'd stumbled across the Bolivian drug ring.

"Liar!" the man stepped from the shadows and slapped her face. Natasha's lip split and blood spilled down her chin. She spat on the ground, narrowly missing the man's boot. The man raised a fist and struck the side of her face, the thick ring on his finger cutting splitting open her earlobe. She grunted and flinched, feeling a fresh gush of blood pour down the side of her face, down her neck and mixing with her hair. Natasha's eyes went wide, in an expression you could almost call "puppy-dog." Something in the man's face changed. He shook out his fist and stretched his fingers.

"You know, I have a daughter about your age. What is she now, 23? Yes. She never likes when it when I kill people. So let us make a deal. You tell me why you are here, I do not kill you." The man came dangerously close to her face, gripping her bloody chin in his filthy fingers. "What do you say?"

Natasha paused for a moment, as if contemplating, but it was really because she'd almost gotten the ropes off her wrists. "First of all, I'm 21. Second of all, how about no?" The man's eyes widened in anger, and up came his fist. Natasha reared back and up, bringing a heavy-soled boot into the man's crotch. He doubled over with a groan. Natasha dropped to the floor and knocked him out with one hard punch before grabbing the gun and baton from his belt and running out the open door.

...

Clint had found the drug warehouse. It was small, and appeared there was only one guard posted, but Clint wasn't fooled. There had to be more than one, or maybe these guys were just _that_ stupid. He quickly took out the one guard with a silent arrow to the chest before advancing. Maybe these guys were stupid after all. Clint stepped over the body and slipped inside. The warehouse was dimly lit, but it appeared to be split into sections, with corridors between. He heard a gunshot off to the right and went that way. 'Tasha was sure to be that way. He hurried down the dark hall, slamming into someone. He held his breath and grabbed for the pistol on his thigh.

"Clint?!" the person hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"'Tasha?"

"Yeah! What are doing here?!"

"Rescuing you!" Clint whisper yelled back.

"Does it look like I need rescuing?" Natasha snapped, then cocked her head, listening. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Barton."

"No, I guess n-mmph!"

Natasha threw her hand over his mouth and shoved him into a corner. His gun went flying out of his hand, landing on the packed dirt floor with a hollow clatter.

"Shut up!" she hissed. Clint fell backwards and Nat landed on top of him. The guard passed by them at a jog, not even noticing the dropped gun. Clint let out the breath he was holding and shoved Natasha's fingers off his face.

"You're - you're c-crushing my spleen," he ground out, scrabbling at the knee Natasha had in his gut.

"You don't even know where your spleen is," Natasha replied, standing and pulling him up. Clint shrugged.

"Fair point."

Natasha cuffed him upside the head.

"Come on, let's go."

"Ow. You are not my favorite person today," Clint said, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm not your favorite person any day," Natasha threw back, creeping quickly towards the door. Clint hurried to keep up, grabbing the pistol he'd dropped when she'd shoved him.

"That's not true." The pair ran out the door, Natasha using the last bullet in her stolen gun to stop a quickly advancing drug dealer.

"We've gotta run. They know I'm escaped by now," Natasha said, wrenching open the warehouse door.

"Yeah, no kidding," Clint muttered, trotting after her into the forest. Natasha, despite being bruised and tired with an injured knee, ran for hours before stopping. Clint was huffing to keep up by the time she deemed they were far away enough. Natasha sat down with a huff against a tree, breathing heavily. Clint wordlessly handed his canteen to her, hers having been taken by the drug dealers. "Is that blood?" Clint asked as she gulped down his water. Natasha swallowed, capped the canteen, and tossed it back to Clint.

"Um, no?" she replied, scrubbing a fist over her forehead at the blood that was slowly flaking off.

"That's not a question you're supposed to answer with another question." Clint plopped down beside her and reached for her face.

"Back off," Natasha snapped, smacking his hands away.

"Hey! I'm just trying to help!" Clint scooted backwards on his butt, quickly, rubbing his hand.

"I don't need help," Natasha snarled, curling into a ball away from him. Clint pulled a first aid kit out of his backpack and chucked it her way.

"I'm going to bed." He grabbed his hammock from his pack and climbed a tree, disappearing from sight.

"Clint," Natasha tried half-heartedly, but he ignored her. She ignored the first ai kit by her boot, kicking it away. It was custom that they tend to each other's injuries. She sighed and balled up her combat jacket and laid down, using it as a pillow.

...

"Wake up, you look terrible." Clint nudged Natasha with his toe, shining his headtorch in her face.

"G' mornin' t'you too," Natasha mumbled, rolling over with a groan. She felt terrible, that was for sure. She didn't know about looks, but if Clint was telling her that, it was probably true.

"Get up, we're burning daylight."

"It's not daytime, dummy," Natasha retorted, "And get that thing out of my face." She shielded her eyes until Clint obliged and moved his headlamp out of her eyes. "Thank you," she muttered, shoving herself up on her bottom with the heels of her hands. Dried blood was everywhere, her face was nearly covered with it. She allowed him to use a swatch of gauze and water from his canteen to clean it off. She held mostly still while he scrubbed the dirt out of the cut on her scalp and butterfly bandaged it closed.

"This one's going to need stitches, Nat," Clint said as he probed the nasty cut on her earlobe. "It's split right in half."

"Get it over with," she muttered, looking away as he dug in the first aid kit. Clint hissed through his teeth and cussed.

"What?"

"Out of morphine," he replied darkly.

"Just do it," Natasha snapped, her stomach churning at the thought of stitches without painkillers. She'd be fine. She'd felt worse.

Clint grabbed surgical thread and a needle out of the kit hesitantly. A few moments later, she felt the needle pierce her ear and she sucked in a breath.

"Sorry," Clint said with a grimace, quickly pulling the thread through.

"_That _is the worst sound_ ever_," Natasha ground out, squeezing her eyes shut as the thread pulled the cut closed. "Ear stitches are the worst. You can hear everything."

"I know, I'm sorry," Clint said as he tied off the second one. "One more and we're probably done."

Natasha whimpered. Field stitches were her least favorite to deal with, whether she was the one administering them or the one getting them.

"I know, I know. Almost done, sweetness," Clint murmured, piercing her ear one final time with the bloody needle. Natasha relaxed a bit despite the pain. She loved it when he called her sweetness, though she'd never admit it to Clint. Clint tied off the thread and snipped the ends. "All done."

Natasha whimpered and put her head on his shoulder. He put a hand on the back of her head, the other digging through the first aid kit for a bandage to keep the wound clean until they got home.

"We've got to get moving," Clint said, folding a bandaid over the wound. "Coulson'll be waitin' for us."

"I know," Natasha replied. The two of them packed up their gear, then Clint helped Natasha to her feet. He slung her arm around his shoulder and helped her walk the three more miles to the extraction point. They reached the drop point not a moment too soon. The helicopter touched down and they ran towards it. Clint chucked his backpack up, then climbed up himself. He turned around and lifted Natasha into the helicopter by her armpits. She allowed him to help her, albeit a little indignant.

"I'm not a damsel in distress, Barton!" She yelled over the din, smirking a little. Her booted feet scrabbled as he pulled her onto the floor.

"Sure you're not!" he yelled back with a smirk. Natasha rolled over and sat up. She rolled her eyes. "I love you, you know that?" Clint said teasingly, but sincerely.

"I know," Natasha replied, laying her head on his shoulder.

...

_**Hope you enjoyed! Next one ought to be fun! Enter Bucky and his half-there half-not memory.**_


	14. Bits of Broken Memories

_**Bits of Broken Memories**_

When Bucky Barnes moved into the compound, Natasha found it hard to adjust. She knew him, remembered him. He didn't remember her. Not even a glimmer of recognition in his eyes each time he looked at her. Just a blank stare. She tried to interact with him, spark his memory, but nothing seemed to work.

Until one day, when she had come up to the common room from the gym, clad in a black sport bra and red shorts, her gun shot scar on full display. Steve, Thor, Tony, Bruce, and Clint had all seen the scar, and Wanda, Vision, and Sam knew of it, so she was comfortable if it showed.

Bucky had never seen it. She came up the stairs, water bottle in hand, breath still puffing in exertion. He was sitting at the counter, looking at something on the phone Tony had given him. He glanced up quickly at the sound of her tennis shoes tapping the linoleum. His eyes widened and locked on her stomach, never straying from her scar. Natasha grabbed a pre-made smoothie from the fridge and sat down at the table, cracking open the lid. She attempted to ignore Barnes, but he tracked her every move. After a moment, he opened his mouth.

"I shot you."

Natasha looked up quickly, fingers going to involuntarily hide the scar on her hip.

"What?" she asked, even though she had heard clearly enough what he had said.

"I shot you," he said, louder this time. Natasha's eyes lit up the tiniest bit. Finally, a memory, albeit a bad one.

"Yes," she replied gently.

"I shot you," Bucky repeated again. He got up from his seat and walked to the table. He towered over her, his eyes dark and foreboding. He grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her seat.

"James, what are you doing?!" Natasha asked, getting nervous now. Bucky's eyes flashed recognition at being called 'James.' Bucky didn't reply, just ran gentle fingers over her scar. "Okay, enough," Natasha snapped at him. "I don't like to be touched."

"You never did," Bucky mused, releasing her arm.

"That's right." Natasha gave a nod and stepped back. "Do- do you remember me?"

"Sort of," Bucky replied.

"Tell me what you remember," prompted Natasha.

"I shot you."

"Yes, we've covered that. Go on."

"In Iraq?"

"Iran."

"Oh."

"Anything else?"

"You always called me James."

"You told me that was your name. Is it not?"

"Well, Steve says it is."

"Do you remember where I'm from?"

"Russia?"

"That's right."

"I-I... trained you!"

"Yes! Yes, you did!" Natasha smiled. Even though those memories weren't always good, the brainwashed Winter Soldier still had a softer side to him, even back then.

"How old were you?" he asked, unable to remember anything else.

"I was twelve when I first met you," Natasha replied. "You started training me at thirteen."

"That's so young," Bucky said in awe and horror.

"That was my life," Natasha mumbled. "There wasn't anything I could do about it."

"They were horrible to you."

"Yes."

"They were horrible to me."

"Yes."

"You liked me?"

"Yes."

Bucky paused, and smiled slightly.

"Did I like you?"

"I think so. You were gruff, and didn't give praise much, but you were kind when you could be. You had a nickname for me. Do you remember what it was?"

Bucky lifted a brow and shook his head.

"No."

"I thought it was strange, because it was an American name," Natasha supplied, hoping that might help.

Bucky shook his head once again, clutching it as if it hurt to think.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't remember. Everything's... everything's all messed up. It's all bits and pieces. Broken memories."

"I know, James. It's alright," Natasha said gently. Bucky smiled and cupped her cheek in his steely palm.

"I missed you. I'm glad I know you again."

Natasha leaned into the cool metal for a moment before pulling away.

"Rosie," Natasha said softly. "You called me Rosie."

"Because your cheeks were always red," Bucky supplied. "You never knew what it meant. I remember now."

Bucky smiled a little, then reached out and touched her scar again.

"I'm sorry," he said sadly. "Real sorry." Bucky's eyes were downcast. "Rosie."

"It's okay, James. It wasn't your fault."

Bucky's eyes were tear filled as he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

"Thank you, Rosie," he said gently.

"You're welcome," Natasha offered as Bucky patted her twice on the head, like he used to do in the Red Room when she was little. James then turned and walked away, leaving Rosie in silence.

...

_I quite enjoyed writing this. Also, 'Rosie' is just my own idea, it's not canon or anything._


	15. PTSD

**_PTSD_**

_She, Natalia Romanova, had wet the bed. And she was terrified. They would drag her away, beat her, kill her, maybe. All for a simple mistake most kids her age made at least once in their lives. It wasn't fair that her little 7-year-old self should have to worry about such things. But she did. And that was life._

_The sun was peeking through the dim, curtain covered window at the end of the narrow bunk room. Other girls were beginning to stir. Soon the headmasters would come in to un-handcuff the girls from their beds and give them their daily morning inspection. Natasha squirmed in her bed, growing uncomfortable as her bottom continually touched the puddle of her own urine. The doors banged open loudly, and keys jingled and bootsteps thudded down the aisles between beds. _

_She took a deep breath and steeled herself as one of the cruel women stopped at her bed and unlocked her wrist from her bed rail. She pushed aside her covers and stood before her, cheeks flaming red with shame._

_"You nasty girl," the women sneered, taking Natalia by the wrist and dragging her out of the room. Natasha knew better than to struggle; it would only make her predicament worse. She was taken to the courtyard, her little feet scrabbling at the floor in an attempt to keep up with the woman's fast pace. Then she was left there for at least 10 minutes by herself, shivering on the doorstep, before a large man came out the door and grabbed her up. She was unconscious before the second blow came._

_When she came to, she was still outside, drenched in water. Madame B stood over her, empty bucket swinging from her hand. _

_"Get up. You have lessons to attend to," she ordered, opening the door and shoving Natalia inside once she had shakily gotten to her feet. She was allowed to dress quickly, stripping out of her bloody white nightgown and into her uniform. _

_That day was hard. She hadn't been allowed to wash up before class, and walked around with blood crusted to her entire body. Every so often, during combat training or ballet, a cut somewhere on her body would burst open through the weak scabs and send fresh blood cascading away. Natasha was weak from blood loss._

_When bedtime came that night, she fell gratefully into her bed only to find the sheets had not been changed, and her mattress reeked of urine. With no choice but to lay on it, she closed her eyes and quietly cried herself to sleep._

_..._

Natasha bolted upright in her bed with a shriek. She frantically looked around, trying to figure out where she was. She on her home helicarrier, drenched in sweat and lying in a pool of urine. The digital clock on her nightstand read 2:47 in bright red numbers.

"What in the heck?" she muttered to herself, peeling back her blankets and staring down at the stain on her lap. She flopped back on the pillow, sighing in embarrassment. What would they other agents think if they found out newly accepted Agent Romanoff wet the bed? No one, not even Clint, knew how bad her PTSD was. She shook her head and shuddered, a few strands of wavy red hair falling in her eyes.

"'Tasha?!" Clint burst into her bedroom through the secret door connecting their quarters. Natasha jumped, and quickly pulled her blankets back over her lap. She looked up at him weakly. "Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Natasha muttered, squirming in her seat. She reached over to snap on the lamp on the bedside table.

"Are you sure? That was a pretty loud yell," Clint replied, moving to sit on the edge of her bed, near her waist. Natasha cringed.

"I'm fine. How did you hear me?" Natasha leaned over a bit to check his ears. He had one hearing aid in. The other was nowhere to be found.

"I always sleep with one in," he replied sheepishly, reaching up to touch his hearing aid.

"Oh." _Don't get wet, don't get wet, _she willed him silently as he slid closer. Clint reached for the covers over her lap.

"Come on, we'll go back to my room and I'll make you something to drink."

"Clint, don't!" Too late. Clint pulled the covers back and reached for her hand. His eyes widened when they settled on her lap.

"Oh, 'Tasha," Clint whispered. Nat's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and her eyes welled with tears. "Hey, now, don't start that. This happens to the best of us. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Clint took her hand and tugged her gently out of her bed, guiding her to her bathroom. He quickly turned on the shower for her while she stood there miserably.

"Thank you," Natasha whispered as Clint slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Natasha stripped off her clothes and got under the spray, turning the water temperature to scalding. She stood under the water for a while, just allowing it to run down her body. She heard the door crack open and something soft was dropped on the floor before it was closed again. She turned off the water and got out, pulling the towel off the nearby hook. She quickly dried, then looked down at the bundle on the floor. A pair of Clint's sweatpants and one of his t-shirts sat on the floor. She smiled a little and pulled them on, breathing in Clint's smell of bow grease, Axe deodorant, and aloe vera sandalwood aftershave.

She poked her head out the door to find Clint perched on the edge of her bed, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate. He beckoned her back to the bed and she crawled onto it, settling into his side. He pressed the mug into her hands and she took it gratefully, taking a tentative sip.

"Thank you," she whispered, laying her head against his shoulder. He cupped her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Anytime, sweetness." Clint stayed with her until the half-drunk mug of chocolate grew loose in her grasp and her chest rose and fell with gentle breaths. He took the cup from her fingers and set it on the nighttable. He eased her down from her sitting position and pulled the covers over her. She sighed blissfully. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, turned the lamp off, and slipped out.


End file.
